Hollywood
by allihavetodoisdream
Summary: "She's Audrey Hepburn, and he's Cary Grant. She's Marilyn, and he's James Dean. She's timeless elegance, and he's old grace. She's searching, and he's already found, already taken. She's sixteen. And he's twenty-seven. But that doesn't matter. Not to a girl in love. Nothing matters, then." Edward & Bella in the definition of a forbidden relationship.
1. Chapter 1

**Inspired by various Lana Del Rey songs and too much Law & Order. **

**Audrey Hepburn-obsessed, sixteen-year-old, pretty Isabella and suit-wearing, competitive, twenty-seven-year-old, lawyer Edward. Their worlds meet and spiral down, down, down with a few twists, turns, and loops along the way. **

**Don't read if age gaps upset you. (;**

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE- Isabella**

I'm very simple, despite what they say about me in school.

I live by shoes and grace and Audrey Hepburn.

I live by elegance long lost and famous poise.

I am an old Hollywood starlet: tall and curvy, with retro waves of mahogany hair. I'm red lipstick. I'm fifties glamour and sixties chic. It's how I move and breathe and function.

But some people don't understand it.

Only Rose, who lives by a similar code: sleazy glamour and smudged eyeliner and hangovers and parties and looking model-ready through it all.

She's my best friend, I suppose, when I'm here in this uniform wearing hell.

It's why I can be completely honest with her when she asks, "Excited for summer?"

I roll my eyes. "Excited to spend time with my mother and her new twenty-seven year old boyfriend? Not particularly." I'm sitting on my bed, legs crossed, procrastinating the packing I have to finish before tonight.

"What's his story?" Rose inquires, blowing cigarette smoke out of our dormitory window—her usual nighttime ritual.

"From money. His father is Dr. Cullen, a famous surgeon. His mother is an interior decorator—a good one. She does houses for the who's-who in New York. And the young Mr. Cullen my mother finds herself in a relationship with graduated from Yale—with honors. And is now the youngest Assistant DA in New York City. So he's ambitious. And if I know my mother—good-looking." I find my own pack of cigarettes while Rose whistles.

"I have no clue how you know all that, darlin'."

"I have connections," I say, winking slowly and lighting my smoke.

"Well, at least you say he'll be cute. He'll be eye candy for the summer."

I shrug, wrapping my right arm across my chest and smoking with my left. I let gray clouds whisper over my lips, into the night outside the window.

"Come on. It won't be so bad. Think about it: hot older guy. And you know he wears a suit. Oh, Lord," Rose says, swooning dramatically, laying her accent on thick. "He wears a fucking suit, Isabella Swan. That's so sexy."

I tilt my head, debating, and I smile just a little.

"I expect all details," Rose announces. "I'll need the escape. Country club parties and forced, endless meetings with Wendell the Thirds, and golf. Go ahead and shoot me now. Do me the favor."

I roll my eyes and smear out the flame on my cigarette. I turn towards my bed and my slammed open luggage, clothes scattered over the sheets. "Oh, the burden of having money."

"Shut up." Rose kicks playfully at my butt. "You have money, too."

"I'm hardly a Hale," I reply, gathering the different fabrics up and folding them. Neat, neat, neat because I am not wrinkles and unkempt clothes. I'm looking polished all the time, even when it's going to the gas station.

"You don't want to be a Hale. Our family isn't at all what it's cracked up to be."

"You should write a tell-all book. You'd get on the _Times_ Best Seller List, easy," I murmur softly, walking over to the closet and gathering more things.

"Writing is your thing, Queenie Isabella. Not mine."

"I'll write it for you," I say, smiling over at her.

Rose grins, tossing messy waves of gold over her shoulder. With her long legs crossed Indian style on her bed, with her cigarette in one hand, with her signature smirk, she's the front cover of the next edition of _Vogue_. "We'd get sued by my parents."

"I could get Mommy's new boyfriend to be our defense."

Rose laughs, throwing her head back.

I keep packing, and she keeps smoking, and we start talking about plans. Futures. Things we'll do. Places we'll go. The kind of girls we will be—beautiful, wild, young. The kind we are now, only more so, not restricted by the controlling environment that is called Forks Prep School or Public School or Teenage Years in general.

And finally, the dread I've felt twisting in my stomach the past two months over going home fades, and I remember it's summer and summer means long days by the pool and doing nothing and dreaming without interruption.

As I stare into the tiny shared closet of my dorm room, I whisper, quietly, "'Some people dream of having a big swimming pool. With me, it's closets.'"

And I let that be that.

* * *

Home isn't really home.

It's a big estate place in light brown that's a _house_—not a home.

We've only lived here for a year, and nine months out of the year, I've been in Pennsylvania, in hell. So it's not my home. It's all Renee's, anyway. It's all antique furniture and restored pieces and art that cost more than a car. That's her.

But Carmen is mine, in a way.

When she opens the door for me, her face breaks into the sunniest of smiles, white teeth so bright against smooth caramel skin. She grabs me into a hug that smells like roses, and I hug her back so tightly I think I must hurt her.

But it's been exactly nine months since I was last hugged. Rose isn't much into physical affection unless it involves a boy. But I crave it as much as I do chocolate covered strawberries.

"Isabel," she hums in her Spanish accent that's like a song. I used to copy her speech patterns because I thought everything she said was magical, musical. "Sweet Isabel! I haven't seen you in so long, _nena_."

I smile into her waves of soft brown hair. "I know. I've missed you."

"As I've missed you," she murmurs, pulling away to kiss my cheek. Her hand finds mine and she pulls me inside the towering foyer Renee has already redecorated. "Where are your things?"

"They're bringing them in," I say, nodding to the car driver lugging in my suitcases. I pull at the scarf around my head, loosening it as I drift further into the house, into the sitting room with all its window walls facing the pool.

The furniture is different. So are the Oriental rugs. All because I know my mother and she changed some of the paintings in the room and decided the current décor didn't match with the new art.

"It looks different," I say.

Carmen drifts past me, cutting a look. "Yes, your mother has been very busy."

"And when you say my mother has been very busy, you mean Eliziar and his brothers have been very busy moving everything for her," I reply.

Carmen and I share smiles, but she doesn't comment. She can't, for fear of her job. It makes me feel so terribly lonely.

"Is the pool ready?" I inquire before I can dwell.

"Of course. Senora Swan made sure it was before you came home. She knows how much you enjoy it," Carmen says, fluffing up a few pillows on the couch.

I nod and pull my scarf off, letting the silk slide through my fingers comfortingly as I move around the big room, eyeing all the new, heavy-looking, dark pieces of furniture and décor we have.

I hate feeling like the house is a museum.

"Have you met Mr. Cullen yet, Carmen?" I ask, leaning down to eye a strange looking snow globe.

"Yes, I have. He's a nice boy," she replies, surprising me a bit. Most of the men Renee dates or marries; Carmen stays quiet about them—which only means one thing. "Very handsome."

I glance over at her and she grins playfully. I smile back. "Is he?"

"Oh, yes. Your mother did good this time." Carmen nods and fluffs more pillows.

"Hm." I tilt my head, pull the clips I have out of my hair and let the waves tumble down. "Does it seem serious? Between Mom and Mr. Cullen?"

"It's only been three months."

"That's not too short of a time, when it comes to Renee," I say with a tone that adds, _And you know it_.

Carmen sighs and straightens and smoothes out her blue maid's skirt. "She's very enamored with him."

My fingers skim a new-to-me oak table. There's no dust because Carmen is the best and Renee is a neat freak. "And is Mr. Cullen feeling the same way?"

Carmen stares at me, big brown eyes fringed with to-kill-for long lashes. She sighs again and says, "Mr. Cullen is only twenty-seven."

"Which is a polite way of saying Mr. Cullen isn't ready to tie the knot," I conclude and then roll my eyes. "I don't know why she's gone for someone so young this time. If she wants marriage, she has to go for an old one on death's doorstep."

Carmen laughs. "Isabel, stop."

"Well, it's true," I say, smiling a little at her as I walk over to the French doors and look out at the glistening pool.

"Where do you want these, ma'am?"

I turn to the car driver loaded down with my things, and I smile graciously. "Thank you, Tom, but I can take them up."

"It's my job, ma'am—"

"Don't worry about it. It will be our little secret," I murmur, walking over and helping him unload the things at the foot of the curving stairs.

"If you're sure."

"I am. Thank you."

He nods and leaves us, and then I turn to Carmen, pick up the bag I know has my bathing suits, and smile. "Want to take a dip with me?"

* * *

Carmen declines to swim with me this time (not with the chance my mother will walk in any moment), but she helps me pick out a bathing suit—a white one-piece that hugs my curves and is all old-school glam.

I dive into the water.

It's freezing cold, like it always is, no matter how hot it grows outside, and I love it. I cut through the water like a knife, all the way down to the bottom of the pool where my whole world is sparkling blue and burning lungs. And just when I think I'll explode without air, I float back up to the surface and suck in a big, delicious breath.

Carmen sits on one of the many pool chairs, right on the edge, so she can dart up and look busy if Renee comes in. And she asks me about school, about boys.

I lie to her, mostly. I say I had a wonderful time, that I had two boyfriends and they got in a fight over me—but it wasn't too dramatic. It was just right. That's what she wants to hear, anyway.

"This Rose girl. Is she your best friend?" Carmen inquires, tilting her face up to the sun, soaking it in.

I float on the surface of the water, staring up into the Heaven blue sky. "Yes. At school."

"Do you like her as much as Alice?"

"Hardly," I scoff and then drop back down into the water before swimming over the edge, by Carmen. "Have you heard from Alice?"

"She's called a few times, begging and then threatening for your phone number at school." Carmen smirks, amused by the things I can only imagine Alice said.

"And Renee wouldn't have it, would she?" I murmur, resting my arms on the pool's ledge, folding them on top of each other.

"No." Carmen sighs. "Your mother said she'd distract you."

I put my chin on my arms and roll my eyes.

And then the doorbell rings, echoing through the house, all the way into our courtyard.

Carmen leaps up. "I'll be back."

"Okay." As she disappears into the house, I push off the wall and twist and dive under the water again, dropping to the gritty floor and crossing my legs Indian style. Closing my eyes, holding my breath, slowing my heart.

It's peaceful.

But the screaming in my lungs soon becomes too strong to ignore, and I have to drift back up, just as Carmen is reappearing, with someone else in tow.

A tall someone wearing a fucking suit, as Rose had said. Except I didn't expect the dark suit to look quite so good, nor did I expect the man to look quite so young or quite so handsome.

The man that can only be Mr. Cullen is smiling easily, his hand stuffed in his pockets carelessly, the suit jacket puffed up around his wrists. His tie is loose, pulled at. His bronze hair is short in the back, around the ears, but long in the front, where it's in a messy wave over his forehead, like an old movie star, and I take one look at the strands and I just know he's constantly pushing it out of his eyes. His jewel green eyes.

He's beautiful. I'm in love with the way he looks, the way he holds himself, the way he moves as he follows Carmen out onto the patio—confident and slow.

"Isabella," Carmen murmurs, only looking mildly discomforted at having to introduce us. "Meet Edward Cullen. Mr. Cullen, meet Miss Isabella Swan."

Then the phone inside the house is ringing, and Carmen is huffing and cursing in Spanish, and saying, "Excuse me, please," before darting back into the house before anyone else can blink.

And then Edward Cullen glances down at me and smiles politely. "Nice to meet you."

I stare up at him for a moment, my face coolly indifferent, before I offer a small, barely-curving smile. Then I point to the towels stacked on the rack and ask, my voice sugar-sweet, "Would you mind?"

Mr. Cullen looks over, eyebrows arching, and immediately goes to get me one, just like I knew he would, because he's been raised as a gentleman, hold-the-door-open-for-the-lady kind of guy. "Here," he says, handing the white fluffy thing to me.

"Thank you," I murmur and slowly ascend the pool steps. I'm relieved I'm wearing this bathing suit out of all my others. It shows the best of my curves, and when I peep out of the corner of my eye, I see Sweet, Handsome Mr. Cullen's own eyes dance quickly away, to his feet.

I smile a little and lay the towel out over the pool chair before sitting down, on the edge, crossing my legs daintily. "So you're my mother's new boyfriend?"

Mr. Cullen, to his credit, doesn't look one bit uncomfortable. He's still smiling, although it's taken on a slightly more smug tone. It's what they call a smirk—a crooked one, at that. "I am."

I nod, pretending to debate. I purse my lips and everything. "I see. Do you usually find yourself dating women my mother's age?" I then inquire, arching my brows ever so slightly.

His smile is Old Hollywood. "No, I can't say that I usually do. Your mother is…she's a really lovely woman."

"Is the money she's worth also lovely?" I ask, my barely-curving-smile reappearing as I twirl my ankle—just a little.

Edward's surprised by my bluntness, but he's all class as he smiles again and shakes his head. "I'm a Cullen, Miss Swan. If you do your research, you'll see I hardly need your mom's money." His green eyes narrow. A bit playful, a bit not, and he's not afraid to show it. "I hope that wasn't an accusation."

I smile and tilt my head back and forth briefly, pretending to debate. "Hardly. I wouldn't dare accuse a lawyer, of all things. It was merely a simple, curious question."

Edward's smirk is aggressive and attractive all at once as he crosses his arms over his chest and leans his side against the French doors. "Oh, I see."

I find my pack of cigarettes on the table and draw one out, place it between my lips, light it. "I've already done my research on you, if you must know. I guess when my mother said she had a twenty-seven year old boyfriend, it does raise some red flags."

Edward nods and smirks still. "I'm sure it would," he replies and in the same breath jerks his chin towards my cigarette and asks, "Your mother know you smoke?"

I arch my brows slowly. "No. Are you going to tell her?"

He grins, and it squints his eyes, wrinkles the corners, makes the emerald irises turn into sparkling summer green. He looks away as he does it, and he's movie perfect, old school class. My heart might actually kind of flutter. "Just a simple, curious question, Miss Swan."

I stare at him, and he smiles at me, and I smile back, and I feel myself slipping.

"That was Mrs. Swan," Carmen announces, reappearing, and I get jerked out of whatever spell I've been drowning in.

"What did mother dearest want, Carmen?" I inquire, looking away from Edward and his dangerous smirks and messy hair.

"She's going to be held up at the museum. She wanted to apologize to you, Isabel, for not being here to greet you. And she wanted to apologize to you, Mr. Cullen, for not making dinner. But I was informed to proceed with the food as planned."

"Oh, that's fine, Carmen," Edward says, voice all smooth and deep and honeyed. "I don't want to put you out. I'll just go back to my place."

I almost leap up to protest, but Carmen does it for me, saving me my dignity. "No, no, Mr. Cullen. Mrs. Swan wanted you to stay. You can get to know Isabel, she said." Carmen smiles warmly.

And Edward's eyes flicker back to me, almost begrudgingly, but I pretend not to notice as I scoot back on the pool chair, lounging and tilting my head towards the sun, closing my eyes.

I hear Mr. Cullen say, slowly, "If that's what Mrs. Swan wants."

* * *

**This is gonna be set in New York, by the way, although Renee and Bella are originally from Forks. The Hollywood references are just due to Bella's fascination with old movies and starlets. (; **

**I might kinda be totally amazing if maybe someone might like to review. It'd totally make my night. And I'd be forever grateful. (; Thank you for reading so far!**


	2. Chapter 2

**"You look like a million dollar man." -Lana Del Rey**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

I look at Edward Cullen across the huge dinner table Renee's bought—even though I know for a fact we've never had ten dinner guests before, nor need a table that seats so many.

It's so Renee that it makes my eyes roll.

I fiddle with the ends of my drying hair. It's wavy soft, a little frizzy without products in it, so I pull it to the side and start braiding it slowly, as we wait for our food.

Edward shifts once.

But I just keep braiding, humming under my breath a little. It's not the girl's job to make conversation, after all. The mysterious leading lady always waits for the man to question first, and then she decides if she'll grace him with an answer.

Finally, he does.

He clears his throat. "Your mom tells me you go to a prep school in Pennsylvania."

It's not a question, so I just give a small curving smile in response as I keep braiding my hair. I shift and pull my legs up to my chest.

Edward taps at his water glass. "You like it?"

"No," I murmur sweetly but without hesitation.

He laughs, and the tension I felt building in him releases a little. He slumps in his chair ever so slightly, not so board-stiff and proper—not the way he is, I'm sure, when my mother is in here eating, too. "What is it you don't like about it? Being stuck there or the work?"

"I don't mind the work. I like school sometimes, when the mood strikes. It'd all just be so much more enjoyable if we weren't forced to sit in chairs all day, listening to a teacher fall in love all over again with the sound of his voice," I reply quietly, still braiding. "That and there aren't any boys allowed at my school."

Edward grins, crookedly again, and it squints his eyes and makes him effortlessly beautiful. "However do you go on?"

"I have my ways," I say, playful-sweet. I finish my braid and then pull on the sleeves of my white, cable-knit sweater. I knew it was what I wanted to wear as soon as I was in my room, changing. The sweater and my white lace shorts. It's one of my favorite outfits. And Rose always goes on about how good ivory and cream look with my dark hair.

Carmen is in the room, then, bringing out the food. She serves it to us on our plates despite the protests from both of us, and when I ask her to eat with us, she refuses that, too. Always worried about what's proper for her. Renee isn't here, but her holds are tight.

Sweet-soft words and gentle-beaming smiles are hooks she digs into everyone close to her. I know better than anyone.

And I wonder if Edward knows yet.

I glance up at him from beneath my lashes as Carmen dashes back out of the room. His head is bent towards his plate. His lashes are forever-long against high cheekbones. Those and his lips are what I notice most. He has a perfect mouth, a little bowed mouth that's just right for a boy.

_A man_, I correct.

I tilt my head at him and inquire, "So how did my mother and you come to meet?"

Edward smiles a little, but it's not like before. "We met at a dinner party my parents hosted. Renee was invited because of the museum. My mother loved it—wanted to get to know her personally."

"And you got to know her instead," I remark wryly.

Edward clears his throat, blinks, but he offers another smile, a pretty, pretty smile despite his discomfort. That's the only response he gives.

I purse my lips and look away, grabbing my water glass. "I bet it was a little bit uncomfortable when you announced your new girlfriend to your parents, then."

Edward laughs, but it's more of a breathy chuckle, and it's addictive. When he looks up at me, discomfort is gone and glimmering amusement is in its place. He smirks. "You seem to be dealing well with all of this."

"What did you expect?" I inquire, arching my brows, smiling a little as I sip my water. "Did you think I'd be one of those rebellious teenagers lashing out and writing emo poetry?"

Edward does the breathy-chuckle thing again and shakes his head. He looks so young when he smiles or laughs. "I was thinking more along the lines of the cold shoulder thing a girl can do so well."

I shrug graciously. "I'm sure you already know you aren't the first boyfriend my mother's had. And if you must know, I already like you better than the last one."

"Yeah?" he asks, smirking, arching his brows.

"Yes," I reply primly, sitting my glass back down and running my finger along the rim. "He had a beard that got food stuck in it and he always smelled like garlic—but he had a the most _divine_ singing voice. To hear my mother tell it, anyway."

"Well, I'm glad to top that, at the very least." He's still smirking with those dancing eyes as he glances down to his plate.

I smile slowly and contemplatively. I let a few moments of time tick by as Edward cuts up his food. My own steaming plate goes untouched as I think. Then I say, "You're the youngest, you know."

"Excuse me?" he inquires, glancing up at me briefly before finishing dicing up his salad.

"You're the youngest man my mother's ever dated. Well, I'm sure she dated men your age when she was of the same age. But I meant this is the biggest age gap," I murmur.

Edward's Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows, and he keeps looking down at his food, pretending there's more cutting that needs to be done to it. "It is a bit of an age gap."

"But age is just a number, right?" I ask, my eyes narrowing, a smirk hovering on my lips.

At this, Edward finally glances up, smiling. "I've prosecuted men that say that, so I wouldn't go that far. But Renee's mature, and I like to think I am, too. So thirteen years isn't so bad. Renee's a nice woman, too."

"Then you obviously don't know her," I say, before I can stop myself.

A shadow dims the dance in Edward's jewel eyes, and he swallows again. Shifts. His lips part, but he doesn't speak.

I just smile, trying to smooth it over as gracefully as I can. "Oh, look. I suppose I am a lashing out, after all."

Edward laughs, but I can tell I've unnerved him.

He sits a little stiffer the rest of the night.

* * *

"Bella, baby," comes a soft-sweet hum as I feel the lightest touch stroking my hair.

I stir slowly from my sleep, blinking in the darkness of my bedroom. But there's enough moonlight pouring in from the windows to see my mom sitting on the edge of my bed, still in her dress and makeup and jewelry.

"Mom," I sigh, rolling over.

"Hello, sweet girl." She leans in and kisses my forehead, like she has since I was little. She smells like expensive perfume, now, though. When I was little, she just smelled like Sweet Pea lotion. "I've missed you."

"I missed you, too," I yawn and sit up. I flick on the bedside lamp, bathing my room in warm-golden glow.

Renee is smiling, like sunshine and natural beauty, and she's like she's always been. Except now, there are a few more lines around her mouth, around the big brown eyes like mine. "I'm sorry to wake you. I just couldn't wait any longer to see you."

I smile back at her, resting my head on the headboard. "It's okay. I'm glad you did."

"I heard you met Edward," Renee says, smoothing out my bedcovers to give her hands something to do.

"I did."

There's a hovering pause.

And then we both laugh, almost identical voices sounding through the air.

"Don't mess with me," Renee cries, pushing at me while we giggle. "Tell me what you think!"

"I think you did good," I reply. "He's nice."

"Yes, he is, isn't he?" she hums dreamily.

"And rich," I add.

Mom's face falls a little, and her tone tries so hard to be firm. "Bella."

I hold my hands up in surrender. I don't like fighting with Renee, after all. Things go so much more smoothly when we are united. Being on bad terms with Renee is like standing in Wisconsin in a record-breaking blizzard.

"How was school?" Renee asks.

"Great. I loved it."

"Yeah?" She smiles, scooting closer. "Any boyfriends?"

"Two."

"That's my girl." Renee laughs and touches my cheek. "How's Rose doing?"

"She's Rose."

"Hm." Renee nods as if this tells her everything, which I suppose it does. Then she says, "Anything exciting to report?"

"Not really," I say and then yawn again, but this one is a fake.

And Renee leaps up just like I knew she would. "Oh, sweetie, I know you've had a big day. I'm sorry. We'll talk more tomorrow, okay? I'll try to get off early from the museum and then we'll have a girl's day. How does that sound?"

"Great," I say, smiling up at her.

"Good." Renee leans in, kissing my forehead again, and then she says goodnight, and she's gone.

I fall back into my pillows as soon as the door is shut, and I turn off the light. But I can't go back to sleep now. There's a nagging knot in my stomach, twisting tighter and tighter the longer I stay still.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Edward and his very nice smile.

I sigh and sit back up, turning the light on again. I pull out my notebook and try to write. But it doesn't help because I can't think of any lines that don't revolve around jewel green eyes and old Hollywood grace and niceness.

So I kick the covers off and sneak out of my room, ease down the moonlit bathed curling steps, down into the kitchen, and I find the phone. I dial the number I know by heart, and I smile because I know that despite the time, she'll be up.

"Hello?" she answers with a drawn out English accent.

I sigh in relief and lean against the wall. "Hello, darling."

"I thought when it said Eddie on the caller ID it was too good to be true," she sighs luxuriously, dramatically. "But alas!"

I laugh and sit on one of the bar stools at the granite island and look out at the glistening pool through the big windows. "It's me. I've missed you."

"Darling, you have no clue. Do you know that I tried watching _Absolutely Fabulous_ the other night, but I started crying halfway through? I didn't even get to hear Patsy and Eddie insult Saffron."

"A travesty."

"It is, it is—just as your absence has been. Why haven't you called?"

"Renee," I sigh.

"_Oh_," Alice returns sourly.

"Yes. Did you know she's dating a twenty-seven-year-old?"

"Stop!"

"No."

"Cougar-licious. Well, let's just hope I'm as good as Renee at hooking a man that much younger when I'm her age."

I laugh softly. "He is quite heavenly."

"On a scale from one to George Clooney."

"George Clooney."

"When can I visit?" is her quick return.

I shake my head and smile and lean back against the cool countertops. "I've missed you so much, Alice."

"I've missed you, too, sweetie. But I was being halfway serious. Well, not in the fact of wanting to come over just for delicious George-Clooney-hot boyfriend. I do want to come over. When can you sneak me in?"

"Soon, I hope. You know Renee works most of the time. She'll probably be going on that annual trip to Paris by the end of the month. Any scheduling conflicts?"

"As if. My life is utterly boring."

"Then plan to sneak yourself in. We'll go through the entire Marilyn and Audrey movie collection while binging on ice cream and we'll ogle George-Clooney-hot cougar bait during breaks."

"You've mapped out the key to my happiness."

I smile. "Love you."

"Love you, too! Kisses!"

And then I hang up.

* * *

Renee doesn't get off early the next day, not that I ever expected she would.

So my afternoon consists of swimming and then watching black and white movies with Carmen on the couch. I take the time to paint my nails red, too, while I'm talking on the phone with Rose, listening to her complain about the lack of degenerate boys hanging around in the country club.

This will be my summer.

And I wouldn't want it any other way.

Except it's all disrupted the next day by jewel eyes and a crooked smile.

When I come down from my room the next morning, I hear him talking to Renee below, and I pause—freeze, really, because I haven't done the best work on my hair nor my makeup. And I'm a bit of an eavesdropper and snoop.

He's saying, "Isn't it a little early for that?"

"Edward, honey, you're paying a ridiculous amount of money for that closet space downtown. This would only be a half hour drive, and it'd be free. Of course, you could have your own room. There _are_ seven, after all."

"Well," he begins.

"Edward, sweetie, we rarely see each other as it is. I work so and so do you. It would make things easier, don't you think?"

I roll my eyes and drift through the conversation of Edward-sweeties and Edward-honeys and Edward-darlings and softly-spoken reasons and sweetly-spun manipulations.

"What about Isabella?"

I perk up at the sound of my name, tuning in with laser focus again.

"What about her?" Renee inquires, completely baffled sounding.

"Well, she's your kid. Don't you think that's gonna be kinda weird for her? Her mom's boyfriend moving in just down the fucking hall?"

"Bella is a very mature girl, Edward. She handles things so wonderfully. She won't mind at all."

"So you've spoken to her and know this for a fact? Or are you just speaking _for_ her?" He lets irritation leak into his voice, and I can't help it. I smile a little.

Renee huffs and pauses. "Is what my daughter thinks so important to you?"

"Shouldn't it be to you?" he returns, his voice rising a little.

And just like that, I think I'm in love.

Renee doesn't sound so smitten when she returns with a slow-eating bite in her voice. "Well, I wasn't aware you were on such good terms with Isabella."

"All I'm saying is, she's being nice enough about this situation as it is. Put yourself in her shoes. Her forty-year-old mom is dating a fucking twenty-seven-year-old."

"I didn't think you dwelled on our age difference, Edward."

"_I_ don't. _She_ might."

"Edward, if you don't want to spend more time with me and be here with me, you can just let me know now. I'd rather you say it to my face than tip-toe around the issue."

"I'm a lawyer. Tip-toeing is what we do."

Renee huffs louder this time. "Spare me your jokes, Edward."

"And spare me your manipulation."

I'm smiling bigger, now, almost so much that my cheeks ache.

"Manipulation?" Renee almost barks, as if the idea is ludicrous.

"I'm a prosecutor, Renee. Don't you think I'm familiar with the art?"

"I am_ not_ manipulating you."

"Then what are you doing, exactly? Because I thought I made it pretty clear when we started this that I don't take bullshit. I just want honesty. I see enough goddamn lying in a courtroom. I don't need to see it in my personal life, too."

He's a foul-mouthed prince.

And Renee is at a loss for words. It takes her a full minute to respond with, "Fine. I want you to come live with me. If you don't want to, then tell me. Is that better?"

"Much."

"Then what's your answer?"

"I—"

"Mrs. Swan!" Carmen calls from somewhere else in the house.

Renee sighs irritably. "What is it, Carmen?"

"Your cell phone keeps ringing. I think it's the museum!"

"I'm coming!" Renee calls back and then directs her voice to Edward. "We'll finish this conversation later, then?"

"Fine," he mutters, and a moment later, I hear the front door open and bang shut.

As quick-quiet as I can, I tip-toe up the steps to the second level and run down the hall, to the windows facing the drive.

I catch Edward as he's walking towards what must be his car—a sleek BMW, of course. He's not wearing a suit today—just dark, expensive looking jeans and a white button down. He's all agitated movements and gorgeous, chaotic hair and leading man attraction as he yanks open his door and slips inside.

I watch as he fires his car up and drives away, a little too fast, but I wonder if maybe that's the way he always drives—fast.

It's something I'd like to know.

* * *

**Thank you to those who've given me feedback so far or expressed interest. Of course, I'd appreciate any more comments you're willing to give. oxoxoxo**


	3. Chapter 3

**"Let no other hold your charms/ If my dreams should all come true/ You'll be waiting for my arms." -Tessa Brewer**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

I am feeling more Marilyn than Audrey today, so I pick out a white, curve-hugging dress and shimmy into it. I spend extra time on my hair, getting the 1940's glamour-waves down perfectly. And I add dark red lips.

As I'm sliding into my pumps, Renee is pounding on my door.

"Hurry, Bella!"

"I'm ready," I call back, grabbing my clutch off the bed and then walking to the door.

Renee is waiting, wearing a simple, but enormously expensive, black dress, with her hair pinned up elegantly. She smiles and says, "You look so beautiful, sweetpea. I wish I still had the figure to wear that."

"Oh, please," I laugh because she has the figure, still—a better, slimmer one than mine. But those aren't the kinds of things a confident lady says aloud. She can think it, but it's another thing entirely to say it in front of another woman. Confidence is just secrecy, after all.

"Come on. We'll be late," Renee murmurs, looping her arm with mine and pulling me towards the stairs.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing. It's always good to be fashionably late," I reply, taking the steps carefully in my heels and long dress.

"You only say that now. Wait until you get a job," Renee chimes.

"I plan to never work a day in my life. I'll marry rich," I say and wink at Renee, and she laughs and shakes her head and says I'm a silly-silly girl that's a dreamer.

But that's not such a bad thing to be, either, I don't think.

* * *

I am overdressing for every occasion.

So, naturally, I am loving any occasion that warrants _really_ dressing up.

But the party Renee is dragging me to, while requiring formal attire, is hardly the way I want to spend my evening.

It isn't the museum itself that I despise. I do love history and art and beautiful things.

It's the people inside the museum.

Pompous, shallow, vain people that love any opportunity to pat themselves on the back. They call these little parties fundraisers, but you'd be hard pressed to find one attendee that knows for what the party is raising funds.

I once asked as many people as I could. I got answers from starving people to AIDs but the real answer that night had been children with cancer.

From then on, I felt myself die a little each time I was forced to be a participant. But Renee loves to flaunt her child as much as her art collection. She likes to move me around the room and introduce me to Mr. So-and-So and His Lovely Wife, and she likes to say how I want to attend Yale (although I've never said such a blasphemous thing) and how I go to prep school (not by choice, mind you) and how I am A Sweet Young Woman with Ambition (also untrue for I've never had one of those dreadful ambitious days in my entire life).

Tonight is no different.

Finally, though, I escape from my mother's clutches and hide out behind one of the six thick white columns that hold the towering-tall roof over our heads. Classical elevator-style music drifts around amid the mind-dulling chatter, and I steal a glass of champagne from a waiter that is fooled by my confidence.

I take small sips of the bubbling wonder before returning the glass, and I peep out occasionally to look at the water fountain in the center of the room or the dresses of some of the passer-bys. I'm not very impressed with either, but it's something to do.

"Isabella Swan."

I jump and turn and find myself eye-level with a black tie. Slowly, I tilt my head back and slower still, I let my best smile slip over my lips gently. Then I'm seeing jewel green eyes and a crooked smile.

"Mr. Cullen," I reply.

"What are you doing behind this thing?" he inquires, jerking his chin towards the column.

"Merely taking a breather."

He grins, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He looks movie star devastating tonight in his classic black suit that's tailored for his lean-tall body to perfection. "Or hiding from your mother?"

I arch my brows and widen my eyes in sweet-pure innocence. "What?"

Edward smirks knowingly at me before letting his eyes dance back towards the crowd. "She said she was looking for you."

"Oh," I sigh.

"Yeah." His eyes are back on mine, and he's still grinning.

"And you just happened to know where to look?"

"I knew this was where I'd be hiding if I were you. I used to do the same thing when my parents had parties I was forced into attending."

"I see." I give a small, playful smile. "And I suppose you're going to report me now."

"No. I'm going to hide with you, if you'll allow it."

"What? And miss all the delightful conversation?"

Edward laughs, all breathless and pretty and flashing white teeth. He leans against the wall and shakes his head and looks out into the crowd once more. "These parties make me want to shoot myself in the fucking head," he says, and then kind of stiffens because he's All Gentleman and he just dropped the f-bomb in front of a minor.

But I smile and say, "I suppose you'd rather be in court."

He grins, crooked and amazing. His eyes are dancing emeralds. "Yeah, I would. At least I know some good might come out of it."

"Hm." I turn so my back is to the wall and I flatten myself against it. I rest my palms on the wall, too, behind my lower back and survey the party, as well, looking for any sight of my mother and knowing to duck when I see her. "So how does one become the youngest Assistant DA in New York?"

"Why? Thinking of going to Law School?" Edward inquires. And he does so teasingly. He's playing along with me.

I purse my lips to hide my smile. "I'm keeping all my options open. You know, just in case my plan of marrying rich falls through."

Edward laughs, and I can feel his breath whisper against my temple as he does so. I realize he's a little closer than I thought, and it thrills. "Well, if you want to be the youngest Assistant DA in New York you have to despise losing more than anything, and you have to be willing to do whatever it takes to win."

"And that's what you did?" I inquire, turning my head to face him.

He's looking down at me, still leaning against the wall. His gaze seems a bit more serious now, fiery-intense, and it's like seeing a glimpse into another world.

"Like I said, you have to despise losing." He shrugs, grins casually. "I like to win."

I smile because while I don't have the same competitive nature, it doesn't mean I can't be attracted to it. "I guess that career path is out for me, then," I say quietly, so he has to lean down a little to catch my words—and he does it. His breath smells like peppermint. "I've never been bitten by the ruthless bug, I'm afraid."

Edward's smirk is slow-curving and dark. "You think I'm ruthless?"

"Why, I don't know you, Mr. Cullen," I say, all wide-eyed-innocence. Then I smile a little. "But I might have heard some things."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mm-hm," I hum, nodding and looking back into the crowd, leaving him with the bait.

But he doesn't bite. He just leans back from me and exhales one of those heart-jolting chuckles of his.

"What?" I inquire, arching my brows. "Are you laughing at me?" I'm mock indignant.

Edward turns and presses his back against the wall, too. Our arms almost touch, and he's looking off into the masses, grinning, his head falling back to rest. He looks picture perfect. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" I repeat, smiling a little. I'm the one leaning in this time.

"Nothing," he assures, shaking his head. His eyes are dancing as he looks down at me briefly. Then he chuckles again.

"You _are_ laughing at me," I accuse, huffing. "How very ungentlemanly."

"I'm not laughing _at_ you," Edward remarks. "I'm just thinking of something."

"Of what?"

"It's a secret."

"I thought you'd be in favor of honesty, given your profession," I murmur, narrowing my eyes playfully.

"Honesty and secrecy aren't two things that oppose each other, Bella. Honesty and lying are, but secrecy is in a realm of it's own."

He called me Bella. He must've heard my mother call me that because she's the only one who does. But I like it much better when he says it. It's softer, more musical.

"Well, I'm certainly glad you cleared that up for me," I say coolly.

We share grins, and my heart flutters again, and I swear I've never felt my heart do that before with a boy.

It's crazy-unreal.

But then Edward glances over, back into the party, and says, "I think Renee is about to catch on to your hiding place."

I look over, too, and see my mother's searching gaze sweeping the crowds. But she's yet to see us. And I don't want this to be over yet. I don't want to be pulled back into mind-numbing small talk, so I reach out and grab Edward's wrist.

His brows arch.

But I just smile mysteriously and give his arm a little tug. "Then we'll just find a better hiding place. This way." I back up, and he lets me take him along, which delights, and I'm floating as I lead him to the courtyard that's empty and lit only by the night sky above and the city lights trapped by it.

We're in the loud-pounding heart of New York City, but it's somehow quiet here, in this miraculous little bubble filled with tulips and stone benches and perfect architecture and priceless statues.

"This is my super secret hiding place, if all else fails," I tell Edward, hauling him towards the wrought iron fence that blocks off the exploding rose bushes. Then, with slight reluctance but the knowledge present that I need to keep my dignity, I let go of his arm.

"I've never seen this place at night," Edward remarks and he's looking all over, obviously pleased, which pleases me, too, because this is my favorite place in the museum. "It looks different."

"Yeah." I lean against the fence. "It's nicer. More peaceful."

"Yeah," Edward agrees, still craning his neck, looking everything over.

I smile a little and pop open my clutch, finding my cigarettes. I draw one out and light it.

Then Edward's eyes are back on me. I can feel him looking, even as I stare at the roses.

He says, "May I?"

And I do look over at him, then, my eyebrows rising as he reaches out for my cigarettes. "I thought you didn't smoke."

"I don't," he says but takes the pack from me and takes a cigarette from me and takes my lighter from me and lights it.

I watch him do it. I watch the cigarette dangle from his perfect-pouty lips. I watch as he raises his long-fingered, strong looking hand and cups it around the flame he starts. I watch as his cheeks hollow with the first pull of smoke, and I watch especially hard when he smiles and exhales the grey clouds and words, "I quit."

I smirk back, taking the pack when he hands it over. "Oh, yeah?"

"I haven't touched one in two months," he says, nodding at me, serious-proud. Then he grins again and leans forward, resting his forearms on the wrought iron fence and looking James Dean cool without even trying. "Guess I get to start all over tomorrow."

I take a puff off my cigarette. "Oh, well. Don't think about it now. Think about it tomorrow. It worked for Scarlett."

Edward exhales a laugh and new cloud of smoke. His eyes squint and shine. "I don't know how well anything worked for Scarlett in the end."

I turn and rest my back against the fence. I grab either side of it and tilt my head up so I can see the stars, but there are no stars, just city-light bleached sky. "I pretend she ran after Rhett and made up with him."

Edward shakes his head, grinning, staring at the rose bushes. "I don't doubt it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demand, pretending to be affronted. I glance down and over at him, arching my brows in challenge.

And he looks up, eyes sparkling, smile devastating and shrugs. "You're sixteen. You still believe in happy endings."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, please," I scoff. "What I believe in is pretending. It gets me through when reality is being a bitch."

Edward exhales more smoke and a laugh that makes me crazy. "How's that work for you?"

"It depends on the day."

Edward's smirk is back, and he's looking up at me still with those piercing-intense eyes and that soft-hard look in them that I can't decipher and I can't find the words to ask about.

So I just content myself with looking back at him, making sure my smile is pretty and barely-there, and I decide not to be the one that glances away first this time. I'll look at him as long as I can, as long as I want.

But all good things must end, and my mother does it for me in a simple declaration.

"There you are!"

I look towards her, but not before seeing something on Edward's face flash by so quick I might have missed it had I not been staring so intently.

It was guilt.

But then he's straightening and turning towards Renee and throwing up an easy smile that charms as he says, "I found her."

Renee gives him a playful doubting look. "Thank you, Edward. I'm obliged."

He grins.

Then she sees the cigarette in his hand. But she doesn't see mine because I've already stomped it out and hidden it beneath my heels. She says, with a small frown, "I thought you quit."

"I did," Edward says and blows out a last cloud of smoke with a smile before dropping the cigarette and smearing the flame out with his shoe. He reaches down to pick up after himself as Renee sighs.

"I hope Bella isn't being a bad influence on you," she murmurs but gives me a smile.

And I smile back but look over at Edward, catch him already looking at me. "Of course not. Whoever heard of a sixteen-year-old being a bad influence on an adult?" I inquire.

"I've heard it plenty of times," Renee laughs and then grabs for Edward's hands. She laces their fingers and pulls him towards her, effortless. "Dance with me, please?" she whispers softly up towards him.

"I'd be honored," he replies without missing a beat.

Renee maneuvers herself under his arm and starts leading him away but not before looking back at me and saying, "Come back inside soon, sweetpea. Don't be unsocial."

"But it's the only way I want to be," I protest airily.

Renee's laugh sounds, beautiful bells, and she turns from me and starts walking away, her arm around Edward.

But he looks back.

And I smile at him and mouth the words, "Have fun," before winking dramatically.

He rolls his eyes. Grins.

And then they're gone.

* * *

On the way home, I'm still glowing.

Edward's smiles and laughs light me up and keep me lit.

Even with Renee forcing other people on me, I didn't mind as much. Because Edward was there, too.

Renee fiddles with the car radio, flipping from station to station, until I still her hand and say, "You have commitment issues."

Renee laughs. "All right. You pick then."

I put a classical CD in, which is the only kind of music Renee and I can agree on.

We drive in silence, then, listening instead to the soft sounds of Gymnopédie No.1. And I turn and look out the window, watching as the city fades away into starlit, moonlight-bathed countryside.

And it almost feels like the most perfect night.

* * *

**Bella's dress was inspired by Marilyn Monroe's white dress in _The Prince and The Showgirl_, in case anyone wanted to know such a fun yet trivial fact. **

**Please review if you feel up to it. I'd love you forever and ever. oxoxoxo**


	4. Chapter 4

**"****Because I'm crazy, baby I need you to come here and save me/ ****I'm your little scarlet, starlet singing in the garden/ ****Kiss me on my open mouth/ ****Ready for you." -Lana Del Rey**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

I am old-school glam, high-waisted shorts every day I can get away with wearing them during the summer.

Today is no exception.

My favorite blue jean shorts and a sheer white button-down you can just-barely-almost see my pink bra through. I leave my hair down in loose waves and put on my makeup, taking extra care today, just for fun.

But when I climb down the steps and bounce into the kitchen, I find it was for more than just fun—it was for good reason, too.

Edward's sitting on a bar stool, hunched over the island that's scattered with thick tomes and seemingly infinite papers.

I feel my eyes widen, and I slow to a halt.

He glances up, bleary-eyed, with wonderfully disheveled hair and a wrinkled t-shirt on beneath an even more crumbled button-down. His tie hangs precariously on the corner of the island. His shoes are kicked off beneath him.

He's early-morning beautiful.

"Oh, hey," he says, his voice cracking with misuse. He rubs tiredly at his face. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't," I say slowly, eyeing the mess. "You're here early."

"I've been here most of the night," Edward sighs, and his voice is still a little gritty as he scrubs his eye. "My neighbor wouldn't stop playing heavy metal, no matter how hard I pounded on the walls or how many times I threatened to bring him to court."

I nod, biting back a tiny smile. "So you came here?"

"Your mom gave me a key a while back," he returns, shrugging. "I didn't really have another option. I have hearing today, and I needed to finish my homework."

"Ah." I drift over to the giant stainless steel refrigerator—one of the only modern amenities Renee deems acceptable in the kitchen. I open it and grab the orange juice. "You want something to eat, then?"

"Oh, no, I had a… a granola bar," Edward mutters, his head bent back over his books. He has a pen in his hand and he tilts it back and forth rapidly, tapping the end against a legal pad that's covered in his scrawl.

"A granola bar?" I scoff. "You have a hearing, and you only eat a granola bar?"

"I'm not much of a breakfast person. Or a morning person, in general," Edward replies dully.

I smirk. "Are you a scrambled eggs kind of person?"

"Um, yeah…" he says, vaguely, his brows coming together as he reads something apparently noteworthy. I watch his lips silently form the words before he turns to the legal pad and writes more in his messy hand.

Every little thing he does is fascinating.

But I force myself to look away and I grab the eggs from the refrigerator. Then I turn to the gas stove and start my work.

Edward doesn't notice until I'm done and sliding the steaming plate of food towards him. He looks up and blinks, like he's waking up, and I hold a fork out to him with a flourish. "You should eat. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day and all."

Edward stares at the plate for a moment, and then looks up at me. But he doesn't say anything, only has his brows arched in surprise.

I arch my own and say, playfully, "You're welcome."

This makes a smirk twist his lips suddenly. And a playful light sparks in his tired eyes as he pulls the plate towards him. But he continues to look at me when he says, a little bit sarcastically, "Thank you."

I bite my lip to hide a smile. But really, I bite my lip to highlight my smile. His eyes catch the movement.

And then I turn on him and flounce away, back to the abandoned orange juice, and I pour myself a glass. "So have you told Renee about this annoying neighbor of yours?"

"Yeah. A few times." Edward's speech is garbled because he's eating.

"Hm. Furthering her case, then, for why moving in here is the best thing you'll ever do, right?" I inquire, sticking the juice back in the refrigerator.

There's a pause before Edward replies, almost hesitantly. "She mentioned it to you, then."

I turn towards him and shrug because she hasn't mentioned it at all. It's not something she wants my opinion on, anyway. She already knows it.

But Edward takes it as a yes. He nods and runs his hands down his face again before leaning forward, resting his forearms on the island, on either side of the massive law book he's got cracked open. His eyes find mine. "I wanted to discuss this with you, actually."

"With me?" I widen my eyes. "Why?"

"It is your house," Edward says.

I roll my eyes and give him a teeny-tiny smirk. "Technically, it's not. I don't pay for it."

"But you live here."

"But only for three months out of the year," I counter, arching my brows. I take a sip of orange juice.

Edward's eyebrows are pulling together, and he's shaking his head a little. "So that doesn't give you a say in this? Is that how your mother makes you feel?"

"Edward," I say, calmly, as I close the gap between the island and myself, so that only the granite and law books are between us. "I am as neutral as one can be on this subject. It's a big house—I'd probably rarely even see you. So the question isn't about my willingness but yours. Do you really want to move in?"

Edward blinks at me. And then sighs and drops his head. "I don't know." He rubs at the back of his neck slowly, working out kinks. "We've only been dating three months, you know."

"I do."

"And it's a big deal, moving in with someone."

"True." I nod.

He looks up at me, from beneath his fringe of hand-messed hair, and he grins a little and says, "And I'm not going to talk about this with you anymore."

My eyes fly perfectly wide. "Why not?"

"I'm not getting relationship advice from my girlfriend's teenage daughter that's only eleven years younger than me," he laughs, shaking his head.

"I don't know," I sing playfully. "I give pretty good advice sometimes, when the mood strikes."

Edward grins bigger and looks up at me. "I'm not going to put you in that position."

Something about the way he says it kind of wobbles me, and I don't remember anything Marilyn-appropriate to say. Not even Audrey-appropriate. So I just say, "Thanks," and it comes out a bit too sincere to suit me.

But Edward nods, and his eyes are soft and sweet.

And then Carmen rushes in for the morning, complaining about traffic, half in Spanish because she's agitated, and the moment fades.

* * *

It's as I'm talking to Alice one night that I realize my plan for sneaking her in won't work. There are always too many people around the estate. I know Carmen wouldn't rat, but there's the gardener, whose allegiances are to himself first and foremost (that and our rose bushes), and the mailman. And then there are the security cameras, too, which usually don't record since Renee and I are hardly candidates for assassination, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that she'll hook them up while she's gone, to be able to check in on me.

My plan then becomes to talk through it rationally with Renee.

But this wasn't part of my plan at all.

Not in front of Edward.

Things have a way of just falling apart, though, and between the salad and the main course, Renee and I are arguing as civilly as we can (considering our company).

"Mom, you act like she's a criminal," I say and my voice is still-water calm.

Renee's voice is icy gales in Antarctica. "You know Alice is wild."

"So is Rose. You don't oppose to her, though—not the way you do Alice," I say, cutting up my steak.

Edward sits across from me, dead-silent, his gaze flickering unashamedly back-and-forth between Renee and I with each comment we exchange. He's following the argument closely, without the polite indifference a guest usually shows. I suppose it's the legal side of him coming out. Or perhaps he's just nosey like me.

"Rose isn't as wild as Alice."

"That's untrue. Alice just isn't as rich as Rose, and God knows we can't mingle with the commoners," I say.

"That is enough, Isabella," Renee mutters quietly, her eyes flickering up to mine, quietly enraged. Then her gaze moves to Edward, who has the good sense to look down at his plate before she catches him. "We have company. This discussion will have to wait."

"I believe Edward has heard far worse," I dismiss. "We might as well get into a raging argument now and get it over with."

Renee's fork clatters to the plate in her exasperation. "Bella, you aren't having that girl over for a week while I'm not here."

"Carmen will be here."

"She only works days."

"Then ask her if she can work nights, too—just for that week."

"She has a husband, Isabella," Renee says irritably, her voice quivering with barely-held back fury. "She isn't going to want to babysit."

"I don't _need_ a babysitter. I'm just trying to placate you."

"Isabella Marie—" Renee begins which means the beginning of the end.

But Edward cuts in before she can go on. "Why don't I come in every once in a while and check in on them?"

Renee and I both fall silent and dumb, staring at him.

He shrugs and pushes his green beans around with his fork. "I'll check in at different times, so they won't know when I'm coming. And you have cameras, anyway. What are they going to do?"

This is directed at Renee totally, who blinks rapidly and dabs at her mouth with a napkin. "Edward, that's very generous, but I know you'll be busy with this new case—"

"I'm always busy with a case," Edward dismisses.

Renee clears her throat, and she gives him this look—this warning—but he's not even looking at her to see it. Finally, she says, "I don't know."

"Mom, please," I pipe up. "I've never done anything to make you distrust me so much. I'm not going to start now."

Renee looks over at me, torn. She rubs at her temple for a moment. I can see the conflict splitting open in her eyes, I can see her silently begging me to understand, to retract my offer and make this all go away.

But I refuse.

And she can only say, tiredly, "Okay."

* * *

"Hey," I say, running after him lightly.

Edward pauses at the front door, pulling on his suit jacket. He offers a small smile. "Hey."

I close the gap between us and halt too close to him. But he doesn't back away, and I just tilt my head back so I can look up into his emerald green eyes. "Thank you," I say, softly.

He arches his brows, smirking a little as he finishes putting his arms through his jacket. "For what?"

I roll my eyes playfully. "For offering to be a babysitter."

Edward shrugs, like it's nothing. "Sure."

"I mean, really. Thank you," I repeat, only slightly awkward with the unfamiliar words on my tongue. Or the words aren't unfamiliar, I suppose. It's the sincerity behind them that is. "I haven't seen Alice in so long. And I didn't think I'd be able to again."

Edward offers that crooked grin of his that squints his eyes. "It's okay. You don't have to thank me. I'm not so old that I don't remember what it's like to be in your position."

"I don't think your old," I say, sweetly, and then I step closer to him, much too close this time, but he still doesn't pull away. I can feel his peppermint breath stirring my hair, can feel his eyes on the crown of my head, can feel the heat of his body surrounding me, along with the smell of his spicy cologne.

He feels like heaven, and I'm not even touching him.

I reach up and fix his tie, pulling it tight and neat again before smoothing it out. And then I take a few steps back from him, offering a small smile, and saying, "Goodnight."

He's staring at me, body-warming intense, but then he smiles back and says, "Night," before he opens the front door. And I see him frown a little just before he ducks outside.

But he was the one that never pulled away.

* * *

"Can I come visit next month?" Rose inquires.

"Of course," I say into the phone that's pressed between my cheek and shoulder. I sit on the living room rug, painting my toenails cherry red.

Edward's on the couch, messing around on his cell phone, waiting for my mom to finally show up so they can go on their date. She's forcing him to go see an opera, and doesn't even have the decency to be on time.

"Thank God. I don't think I can stand one more second of golfing with Daddy and the newest suitor my mother has forced upon me."

"That is a shame," I hum.

"Hey. What's Mr. Young Lawyer look like? You never told me? Is he delicious?" Rose asks.

I peep up at Edward. He's absorbed in his phone, frowning at whatever it is he's seeing. He's been on another planet ever since he arrived. He didn't even do a double take at my bandeau and high waisted shorts combination.

I say to Rose, "He's so fucking hot."

That gets his attention, though.

Edward's eyes jerk up, a little wide, a little amused, and I shrug and mouth, "Cary Grant."

He smirks and rolls his eyes and looks back down at his phone.

"Shut up," Rose groans slowly. "Is he over all the time?"

"Almost everyday," I say, and I can tell Edward's listening in, now, even if he's a better actor than most. I can tell by the way his lips don't move anymore, like they do when he's really reading.

"Mm," Rose sighs. "What's he like?"

"Tall. And he has a great smile. And he's so cool-confident, you know?" I sweep more red paint on my pinky toenail. I can feel Edward's gaze flicker back over to me.

"Sounds like someone might have a little crush," Rose drawls.

"Don't be silly, Rosie."

"Oh, please! I say flirt with him and have a crush, if you want. He'll be good practice for the real prospects I'm going to hook you up with next school year. You're so gonna get laid."

"Don't be vulgar," I laugh airily.

"Vulgarity is truth, Queen B. Hey. Does Hot Lawyer Man wear a suit?"

I let my eyes flicker up and meet Edward's. I look at him from beneath my lashes and smile so sweet as I say, softly, "He does."

We stare at each other for a moment, and I feel my heartbeat thump-thump-thumping in my chest like a drum.

Then Edward kind of shifts and clears his throat and looks back down at his phone. He isn't smiling anymore. He's not even trying to pretend.

But I smile as I look back down at my toes and finish painting them.

"You're so lucky," Rose sighs and then says, "Hey, I have to go. I'll call you tomorrow."

"Okay, doll," I say, and then we hang up.

The grandfather clock chimes its song, signaling the eight o'clock mark. Renee is an hour late, now, and Edward sighs.

I smirk as I tighten the cap on my nail polish. "You might miss the opera."

Edward sets his phone down and stretches his arms out before resting his hands on top of his head. He grins, and he's all messy hair and a pulled-loose tie and crumpled clothes. "That would be a shame, wouldn't it?"

I smile. "Oh, yes."

Edward grins a little and shakes his head. "Your mom has a way of making me wait around for her."

"You're supposed to make your man wait around for you, so he realizes how much he wants you. That's what a woman does, Edward," I say, standing.

His smirk is devious. "Oh, yeah? And how would you know what a _woman_ does?"

I stick my tongue out at him and drift over to the fireplace, where my nail polish box sits on the high-up ledge. "I was born a woman, obviously." I go on my tiptoes to reach the box, and I glance to the almost mirrored surface of a picture frame and see Edward looking at me.

At my ass.

I smirk and grab the box before turning towards him.

He quickly looks away but says, "I think it's a conspiracy."

"What?" I ask with a smile, arching my brows. "Being purposefully late to make a man crazy? Of course it is."

Edward shifts so his arm is draped over the couch, and his smirk is still in place, and he's all _boy_.

And then I hear Renee's car outside.

"Looks like you won't have to wait any longer." I lean down and grab my nail polish bottle, stash it in the box, and then drift over towards him, putting the right kind of sway in my walk, and then, when I'm at the side of the couch, almost past him, I lean down and say, letting my breath whisper against his neck, "Have fun at the opera."

His head turns and our faces are kinda too close, kinda perfect, and he realizes and pulls back just a little. But he's grinning and his eyes are dancing, dark, dark, dark. "Thanks."

"Mm-hm," I say and then flounce away, with my heart flying in my chest.

* * *

**Isn't the Google Doodle for today the most perfect thing? Happy Birthday, Audrey!**

**Also, my offer for eternal love and gratitude for feedback still stands from last chapter. (; I'm still fairly new at writing, and I want to get better so I can make a career out of this. So any pointers or questions or encouragements or critiques are always welcome. I'd be so grateful. (: oxoxoxox**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so very much to VampiresHaveLaws for beta-ing this and for being so kind and for helping my little story along! It means the absolute world! Thank you, too, to Nicffwhisperer for recommending this story to others! And thank you to all the people that are giving this story a chance. I hope I don't disappoint. oxoxoxox**

**"The real lover is the man who can thrill you just by touching your head or smiling into your eyes - or just by staring into space." -Marilyn Monroe**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

"Renee, you have to give me something," Jane says, in her incredibly obnoxious, man-deep voice.

I stand at the top of the steps, eavesdropping as usual.

Renee laughs downstairs, from the living room. "Jane, please. Don't make me blush."

"Oh, darling, really. I'm just dying to know. You have to tell me," Jane coaxes.

Renee puts up a mock fight, before finally giving in. "Well, what would you like to know about him?"

I frown, listening in closer.

"He's twenty-seven, for Christ's sake! What do you think I want to know? Is he energetic? Is he good?"

Jane and Renee share laughs like teenage girls, and my skin crawls. I tell myself to go back to my room and play music as loud as my stereo will allow until Jane leaves in her precious Jaguar, but I stay frozen.

This conversation is a train wreck, and I'm a morbidly curious witness.

"He's the best lover I've ever had," Renee whisper-laughs.

"What?" Jane demands, her voice dropping down Johnny-Cash-low. "Better than the man with the—"

I strain to listen, but she whispers the rest, and then they're both laughing again. I think it's best I didn't hear.

"Yes, better than him!" Renee cries and then hiccups.

Wine does wonders, I think.

"Oh, it's so funny, darling. I remember being in my twenties and sleeping with men of the same age, but I don't remember how it was. Is it just wonderful?" Jane sighs, dreamy sounding.

"It is," Renee replies, just as bliss-filled.

I am a sick stomach and the urge to scream until my lungs burst. But that isn't what ladies do. And it certainly isn't what spying ladies do. So I keep quiet.

"But there is one thing…" Renee murmurs. "I'm not sure how to handle it, and I'm not sure at all who else I can talk to it about."

"Oh, no! He's got some kind of disgusting birthmark, doesn't he? I knew he was too pretty to be perfect," Jane says.

Her mind is kiddie-pool-shallow.

"No, no. It isn't that. It's just that… well…" Renee, even with a half a bottle of wine floating around in her stomach and hazing her mind, hesitates.

Jane has no use for it. I can hear the irritation rising in her well-deep voice. "Darling, out with it! I'm simply dying to know!"

"Well, he likes to talk. During."

Jane is quiet for a moment. "Talk? About his feelings or some nonsense?"

"No, no. He likes to say… well, it's a bit embarrassing for me to even talk about it. But he likes to say dirty things. You know. He likes to talk dirty. I think that's what the proper term for it is."

"That embarrasses you?" Jane questions. "I've always found it a turn-on."

I shudder at the thought of knowing one of Jane's turn-ons. It's something that I know will come back to haunt me at a later time.

"Well, it just isn't at all what I'm used to," Renee murmurs, sounding so perfectly prim-and-proper that I could throw up.

"What does he say? Does he go too far?"

"Oh, Jane, I'm not going to tell you what he says!" Renee laughs. "But no, it's never upset me to the point of thinking he's gone too far. I know it's normal for some people."

"Does he say cock and fuck and so forth?"

"Jane!" Renee is all bubbly giggles that won't stay down.

"Oh, don't be a prude, darling! Does he?"

Renee's quiet for a moment. I can almost see her put-on sweet smile. Then she says, or giggles, "Yes."

"Oh my God! And he seems like such a gentleman. Well, you know they always say the quiet girls are the kinky ones. Perhaps the gentlemanly-seeming boys are the dirty talkers."

"It's certainly the case with him."

They giggle some more.

And then Renee is saying, "I'm going to get another bottle," and Jane is agreeing enthusiastically.

I feel nauseated. So I just go back up to my room and carry out my plan of blasting music until Renee's most ridiculous friend goes home.

* * *

I am midnight swims.

Or two a.m. swims, as the case may be tonight.

I tiptoe down the steps, reveling in the moonlit-bathed house and the quiet stillness of the air-conditioned air. I like the solitude and the peace and the thrill of doing something different.

But my lightness fades as soon as I step into the living room and find the lamp on and Edward sitting on the couch, different books sprawled all around him.

I say, "Is your neighbor going on a Rage Against the Machine binge again?"

Edward doesn't glance up or look startled by my appearance. He only gives a half grin down to the book he's reading, and it makes my heart do lovely little flip-flops in my chest.

"Rage Against the Machine I can handle. I draw the line at Slipknot." Edward smirks and drops his pen onto the coffee table before glancing over at me. His hair is messy and pulled at, and his tie is long gone. In the golden-glow of the lamp, he looks sleepy-perfect. "How do you even know who Rage Against the Machine is?"

"I'm all about the heavy-metal-funk-and-rap fusion movement," I say.

"Wow," Edward replies, pretending to be impressed. "Well, who doesn't like heavy metal and funk and rap all mixed together in one loud, confusing, screaming package?"

"That's what I've always wondered myself." I drift towards him, to the mess he's made of our living room. Papers have exploded onto the other chairs and the floor and the table, all filled with typed words or Edward's messy scrawl. My eyes widen. "Another pressing matter to contend with?"

"Not too pressing." Edward sighs and rubs at his face. "Just doing my homework before next month's trial." Then he seems to really look at me and see my retro-red bikini. I think I see him swallow. I definitely see his brows pull together and his eyes dart away.

I glow.

He asks, "Going swimming?"

"No, I just like to wander around in a bathing suit."

"Smart ass," Edward chuckles under his breath.

I smile back at him and then nod. "Yes, I'm going swimming. Swimming at nighttime is the best. Want to join me?"

Edward's brows arch, and his smile is an amused quirk on his perfect-pouty mouth—a mouth I can't look at now without thinking of the vulgar words formed by it. "I probably shouldn't. I have a ton of shit to read up on."

"Then take a break and have a smoke with me outside," I implore, clasping my hands behind my back sweetly. "You said this wasn't that pressing. And you look two paragraphs away from falling asleep anyway."

He doesn't take much convincing.

"Okay," he says.

* * *

I sit on the edge of the pool chair, looping one arm around my torso while I hold my cigarette to my lips.

Edward sits on the chair next to mine; legs bent open carelessly in that boy way, hands and burning smoke dangling between his knees. He stares at the glistening blue pool that's lit against the navy night.

It's quiet, only the crickets singing summer-sweet songs. But I don't want quiet, now. Not with Edward.

"Tell me about your case," I say, crossing my legs slowly.

Edward glances over at me sideways. His hair has fallen into his eyes, and when he blinks, his eyelashes catch at the strands. He pauses to push it to the side. "It should be a slam dunk."

"But it isn't?" I prod.

Edward sighs and looks back at the pool. He flicks his ash into a soda can. "If you want to win, you have to expect the crazy shit that can happen." He takes a drag off his cigarette. It hollows his cheeks, and he has crazy-high-pretty cheekbones. "The defendant killed her husband—or hired a guy to. But the guy was an undercover cop. We have the whole thing on tape."

I arch my brows. "So… slam dunk?"

"Well, my theory is that the defense is gonna try to paint her as this avenging angel."

I frown and tilt my head and listen to Edward's New York accent slip in ever so slightly, the longer he talks. "Why?"

He blows out a clean line of smoke directly into the sky, shaking his head. "Because her husband was an asshole. He slept around on her. She had four kids with the bastard, and he cheated, and gave her fucking HPV. So she gets cervical cancer, and has to have a full hysterectomy. Obviously, the man isn't getting any awards for being a stand-up husband or human being."

"Well, that does change my view of her a little, I suppose."

Edward nods and looks over at me, piercing me still with intense eyes. "Exactly. That's the reaction the defense will count on from the jury, too. But it doesn't change the facts. The woman had her husband whacked. And the defense will turn her motive into some kind of excuse for what she did."

"Well…" I pick my words carefully as Edward takes a deep pull from his cigarette. "Don't you feel kinda sorry for her?"

"Doesn't matter what I think," he exhales, along with gray wisps of smoke. He's shaking his head, bouncing his knee. Getting worked up over it. When our eyes meet again, his gaze is sparking flame. "She broke the law—plain and simple. She shouldn't get out easy for it just because she has a sad story. A bad life isn't an excuse for murder, or else most murderers would walk free, don't you think? You can't kill someone and then explain it away because you had a traumatic childhood. Plenty of people have fucked-up lives and never break one law."

I take this in, smoking slowly, gathering my thoughts at my own easy pace, sitting calm-still as Edward's leg continues bouncing. "Hm. Well, don't you feel the least bit understanding towards her?"

"Like I said—it doesn't matter what I think or how I feel. I'm paid to prosecute people who've committed crimes. She had another life taken. We have solid evidence. It shouldn't be about emotions."

I smile a little, bite my lip. "So, what? You're telling me you aren't emotional right now?"

Edward smiles over at me, but it's not the easy-sleepy smile I'm used to. "Maybe. You can be emotional about certain things—you have to, to sway a jury. But you can't be emotional about the law. About the game. Then you start breaking rules. You see stuff in gray instead of black and white. And that leads to making mistakes or getting lost in all the shit."

"Optimistic point of view."

Edward smirks. "Realistic one."

"I might have read a few things when I was researching you when Renee first mentioned you. Things about you getting into trouble—being a bit too impassioned."

Edward's smirk grows more devious, less apologetic than ever, and he's different this way, outside in the night, smoking with me, talking about his work. He's less clean-cut and sweet-boy-gentleman.

He's the youngest Assistant District Attorney in New York City, and in this moment, there are no doubts as to why he is.

"I made a few witnesses cry on the stand," he says, point-blank, shrugging. "They said it was cruel. I said it was truth."

"And truth can sometimes be oh-so cruel," I counter, looking over into the shimmering pool.

"Yes, but isn't truth what we're ultimately after? Isn't truth a tool to finding justice?"

I debate, pursing my lips, tilting my head back-and-forth, back-and-forth. And then I inquire back of him, "How far would you be willing to go to convict someone you knew was guilty?"

He's quiet, so I look over at him once more, find his gaze deep-dark-pondering. Then he comes back to the now, to me, and he looks at me so steadily, it's unnerving.

He shrugs. "As far as it'd take."

I arch a brow, barely hide a smile. My heart is flipping-spinning-dancing. I feel my pulse in my tiptoes. In the crown of my head. I say, "Law be damned?"

Edward's mouth crooks up on one side, effortlessly dark-beautiful. "No. I always follow the rules."

"Always?" I hum, tilting my head, my eyes and voice innocent-sweet.

Edward's eyes are too unwavering, too stomach-twisting. But then he grins again and looks away, back to the pool, giving me a look at his angle-sharp profile. He says, "I bend rules. But I never break them."

* * *

"Bella?"

"Yes?" I inquire, refusing to open my eyes to the sound of mother's sweetpea voice. The sun blaring down on me feels far too good after spending an hour in our frigid pool, and I've spent my sunbathing time fantasizing about summer-tanned skin, and there's an ice-chilled Coca-Cola right next to me.

I am perfect happiness and summer bliss.

I don't want it to change by looking at Renee.

"Would you like to go to a party?" she asks.

I sigh and adjust my Audrey-big sunglasses. "Is this where you ask me if I want to go, I say 'no,' and you say, 'just kidding, you're going, anyway'?"

Renee laughs musically. "No, sweetie. You have a choice."

I turn weary. "What kind of party is it?"

"You act so suspicious of me all the time, Bella." There's a smile in her voice but truth in the words.

"You warrant suspicion," I tease.

Renee sighs and then says, "It's a fairly simple party—a fundraiser that Dr. Carlisle Cullen is in charge of. And it's for a cause you'll be happy to know Dr. Cullen truly does support. It's something to do with child abuse."

At this, I cannot help but lift my glasses a little and open my eyes to look over at Renee and her innocent-wide expression. "Dr. Carlisle Cullen. Edward's dad."

Renee nods, simply.

"So Dr. Cullen and Mrs. Cullen will be in attendance?"

Renee nods again. Her long artist hands are weaved together tightly in her lap. Her giant emerald ring glints in the sunlight. It was a gift from Boyfriend That Had a Yacht.

I arch my brows. "Isn't that a bit… uncomfortable now? Considering."

"Considering what?" Renee laughs again, lines fanning around her eyes, and she's painting-pretty. "Bella, you act as if my dating Edward is a crime."

"Hardly," I reply and let my glasses drop to the bridge of my nose once more. I lean back into the pool chair and resituate my wide-brimmed, floppy hat.

"Well. Would you like to go?"

She doesn't want me to. I know Renee like I know the most memorable quotes of Marilyn, Audrey, and Grace Kelly. I know Renee like I know shoes. I know Renee like I know black and white movies, and I know she doesn't want me to go.

So, of course, I say, "I'd love nothing more. You know how I adore the chance to spiff up." I kick my leg up dramatically for emphasis.

Renee does me the courtesy of not sighing, or at the very least, doing it so quietly I don't hear it. "Are you sure? I know you get so bored at these things."

"I'm sure I can find something to entertain myself with." I smile ever so slightly, inhaling rose-ripe air into my lungs deeply.

"I don't want you to feel obligated by me," Renee murmurs, but she knows the battle is lost. The only way she can prevent me from going now, is to overtly say she doesn't want me to go. And Renee is not one for overt.

So I reply, "The only thing I'm obligated by, Mother, is the desire to wear a dress and high heels." And there's nothing at all she can do.

* * *

**Thank you for all the feedback so far. It makes me glow. Please keep it coming, if you feel up to it. oxoxoxo**


	6. Chapter 6

**I am overwhelmed. A most heartfelt thank you to all the people recommending this story, to all the people reading this story, to all the people leaving feedback for this story, and again, to VampiresHaveLaws for having to read through all my icky-typos and awkward phrasings-and then fixing them. Everyone is being so amazing that I could cry. oxoxoxox**

**Also (and I do apologize for the unusually long A/N), I see a lot of reviewers a bit upset by Edward and Renee's relationship or Bella and Edward's age gap. I feel like I made it clear at the start that this story will deal with icky age gaps, both Edward and Bella's and Edward and Renee's. If it makes you uncomfortable, you may want to jump ship now. I don't intend to gloss over the more squeamish issues the story presents. (I don't mean to sound hostile, either-this is just a fair warning).**

**"Each time we meet love/ I find complete love." -sang by my true loves, The Everly Brothers**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

The Cullen residence is more art than house.

As soon as we pop over the hill, it's all angular, white structure jutting from the green-grass countryside. The sun is setting, and it catches in the seemingly endless stretch of windows, setting half the house ablaze with light.

It's stunning, in a foreign, movie-unreal kind of way.

Renee parks the car in the drive, alongside the other Jags and Audis. One guest even has a Lamborghini—in the most obvious shade of canary yellow. It's all so modern cliché.

I already regret my decision to come. Perhaps making Renee sigh a few times isn't worth another wasted night of small talk and cigars and self-congratulatory remarks.

The only consolation is Edward's attendance.

And in a far-off, reality-intruding sort of way, I realize Edward's presence shouldn't be a motivating factor, and most definitely shouldn't be an exciting prospect.

But it is and I can't help the way I feel. I've never been as good at hiding feelings as Renee.

* * *

"Welcome!"

The woman is small, curvy-petite, and all eyes—sweet, milk chocolate eyes. She's a heart-shaped face and soft-looking caramel hair that's polished-chic and feminine. And she's absolutely everything I want to be at her age. I know with just one smile.

"Renee, how are you?" she inquires, opening her slim ivory arms out for my mother.

Renee smiles back, gracious and pretty, and has to lean down a little to hug the woman. "I've been well, Esme! Thank you."

"I haven't seen you in month." There isn't one note of insincerity in Esme's soft voice. She's all truth and warmth. "It's been too long, sweet friend."

"It has," Renee agrees, pulling away. She offers another smile and smoothes down her chestnut hair. It might be the first time in a long time I've seen my mother flinch—and it isn't in the face of evil but rather Esme and her kind, MoonPie-wide eyes. "I've been so busy—with the museum."

Esme nods, her brows knitting together in genuine concern. And then her eyes flicker over to me, and her smile is almost blinding—without bleached teeth, even. "You must be Renee's baby girl! You two look so much alike! And you look just like Veronica Lake with your hair like that." Her voice is almost a whisper as she reaches out to gently touch the strands of my hair.

She's heaven-sent.

"I know you must be so proud of her, Renee," Esme says, and looks over at my mother with a gentle smile and almost-sad eyes, an emotion I don't understand—but Renee seems to.

She's extra enthusiastic and careful as she replies with, "Oh, yes. She's my girl."

Esme presses her lips together, tight-tight-tight, and then she blinks quickly and laughs, radiant as she looks back to me. "I'm so sorry! I didn't even introduce myself! I'm Esme Cullen."

"It's so nice to meet you," I reply, hugging her when she offers. She smells like cookies and happiness and home, even with The House of Tomorrow looming behind her.

"The same, sweetheart," Esme murmurs, pulling away but clasping hands with me. "Why don't you two beauties come in? I'll give Isabella a tour."

So we walk inside, into cool air and the smell of candles and the sound of murmuring voices and clinking glasses. We're in the foyer. And it's all shiny, light hardwoods the color of beach sand and white walls and silver accents.

"Come on," Esme says with the enthusiasm of a child. She beams.

* * *

The main room is mostly windows overlooking emerald countryside. The décor is glossy-modern. The staircase is open-stepped. The lighting consists of soft white orbs descending from the tall-tall ceiling. The furniture is all white.

And the guests are all rich.

But there aren't that many. This is different than museum fundraisers. It's small. Quiet. Less of a grand show.

Esme is telling Renee and I about this painting (which consists of a bunch of pale, squiggly lines I find the epitome of boring and less worth than the half mil it cost). I tune most of it out, putting on my listening face, and nodding and nodding and nodding, humming in all the right places, lying with ease about how lovely it is.

But Esme's fascination with it, while difficult for me to understand, is less irksome because of the sincerity. She really does believe the painting is beautiful.

Someone else must, too, for it to cost as much as it does.

As Esme goes on another tangent about the piece, her eyes flit over, and she stops and absolutely lights up. "Carlisle! Carlisle, come here!"

A man stops before us, tall, blond, broad, and 1950's handsome. Dr. Cullen looks like a doctor—the kind from a black-and-white TV show. He smiles beautifully at Esme, the same light breaking across his already sunny features.

"Hello, sweetie," he says, coming to stand beside her. His arm goes around her on instinct.

"Renee's here—and her lovely daughter, Isabella," Esme says, motioning.

"Nice to see you, Renee. Nice to meet you, Isabella," Carlisle murmurs, as gracious as his wife.

He smiles at Renee like she isn't the forty-year-old dating his fresh-from-law-school kid.

He smiles at me like I'm not the cougar's daughter.

And I smile back like I don't think about his son inappropriately too much.

* * *

I don't see said son.

Not until an hour later, when he comes in looking a little disheveled and a lot beautiful.

I see him across the room. And he sees me—then grins, offers a small jerk of his chin, and he's got my heart jumping, just like that.

The urge to walk over to him overwhelms.

But, obviously, a lady doesn't go to the man. If he's going to come, he'll come to her—not vice versa.

Before I can see what he's going to do, Esme is there, stopping him, saying something with her radiance-beaming smile. He's smiling down at her, nodding his head. And then Renee is there and I watch as he leans down to kiss her—just a light, chaste kiss, but it feels like a punch. It makes me feel winded. Empty.

So I sneak a flute of champagne when no one's looking.

It helps.

Champagne or chocolate always help.

* * *

I skirt away from my mother and her promotions of me to the wealthiest people at the party.

I tuck myself away in a quiet corner with a new flute of champagne, and I listen to the classical music playing over the high-priced sound system. I imagine myself in black-and-white.

If I were a movie, I'd be black-and-white.

If I were a movie, I'd be an old one, a classic, with a dark love story and twists and turns, deceptions and lies, mystery.

I'd be a film noir.

Sighing, I lean back and cross my legs, watching the party with tired eyes that see such tired things. The married woman stealing hungry looks to the man that isn't her man—the husband doesn't notice because he's sleeping with nanny at home, anyway. The young lady rolling her eyes at the waiter's attempt at flirtations—he doesn't have enough money for her. The older man trying to befriend the entrepreneur—the young man with the hot business ideas is too busy on his BlackBerry, talking to people halfway around the world on_ very_ important business.

It's all the same.

Mindless repetition.

Perpetual motion.

I sigh again, louder, and play idly with the ends of my hair. I hum made-up lyrics to the music. I think of what bathing suit to wear the next time Edward comes over to escape his metal-obsessed neighbor—the one with the plunging neckline, or would that be too much? Only if I made it _seem_ like too much.

It's all about how a lady carries herself, after all.

And then I see him.

He's broken away from Renee, and he's rubbing at his neck, walking across the room slow but purposeful. He glances around twice, sneakily almost, and then I see him cut down a hall, out of sight.

So, of course, I follow.

Surreptitiously and oh-so quiet.

The hall leads to French doors he ducks out of. I wait a minute before drifting over myself and peeping outside.

It's a patio area and beyond that, a glistening-glimmering pool. But, of course, I'm not lucky enough to catch Edward taking a swim, without his shirt. Instead, he's bouncing a basketball methodically on the concrete of the patio, and he's all golden-glow in the outdoor lights.

I bite my lip.

I think.

I glance to my left and see a hall mirror.

I smooth my white, body-hugging dress over. It has a sweetheart neckline, barely there little cap sleeves. It comes down to mid-calf and is tight-tight-tight all the way. It makes my hips look wider and my waist look small and my cleavage look more—and that's why I wore it, of course.

I fluff up my dark hair.

I rub my red lips together, evening out the lipstick.

I pinch my cheeks, do-it-yourself blush, old-movie style.

Then I walk outside, innocence already blooming on my face. "Oh," I say, all surprise that sounds so believable. I'm a perfect liar. "What are you doing? Surely not hiding."

Edward looks over, a grin already twisting his pouty mouth, but his eyes get a little distracted by my 1940's glamorous dress. His gaze quickly skirts back up to mine, and he clears his throat, tries again for a smile, but it's not nearly as effortless as before. "What was it you called it? Merely taking a breather?"

I scoff and rest my hands daintily on my hips. My eyes wander over the patio and the nice chairs, to the giant pool and it's comforting blue light pressing up into the fallen night.

I say no more because I'm waiting for him. I want him to say something first.

And he does.

"You play?"

I glance over, a brow already arching at the basketball he's halfway extended. His cocky smirk and the dance in his eyes tell me he already knows the answer.

"Do I look like I'm the athletic type?" I inquire with a sniff.

He shrugs and manages to repress his grin for only a moment. "I never know with you. You seem to have a lot of secrets."

His words make me so warm that I almost sigh. But instead, I say, "Well, having a hidden talent for sports isn't one of them, I most wholeheartedly assure you." I look at him knowingly, a small smile curving my red-wine lips as I drift over to him, slow-sway in my walk. His eyes are all mine. He doesn't once look away. "Let me guess," I murmur as I go closer. "You played basketball in high school and at the prestigious Yale. You were team captain. And you won every game."

Edward's crooked smile takes my breath as he stares down at me, as unwavering as I am. "I've played basketball since I was seven, actually. And I wasn't team captain in high school because I may have been a bit too hostile with a teammate when he cost us two games in a row. But I was captain in college, when I had my temper under control." He pauses and leans down towards me, playful, and says, "We never lost a game that season."

I can't help when my answering smile widens. My heart is a hummingbird's set of wings, beat-beat-beating, frantic-fast in my chest.

"Why don't I teach you a few basketball tricks?" Edward's face is innocent but his eyes are dancing with dark challenge.

I laugh and take a step away from him. "No, thank you."

"C'mon," he pleads persuasively, and there's no way I could say no.

But it isn't as if I can just say yes, either, not when I've already turned down the offer. So I purse my lips and pretend to debate. "I don't know."

Edward smirks, seeing through it all. He walks to the center of the patio and faces the basketball hoop I just now notice. "I'll teach you how to throw, first. You stand like this." He shows me, but I'm not paying attention at all to the technique. It's not the art of throwing a silly ball through a ring that fascinates me—it's just him and the addictive way he moves.

He shoots.

The ball slinks through the hoop with no resistance.

He smirks over at me, all proud boy.

I roll my eyes. "I'm very impressed, Edward. Really. I'm glad you can manage to throw a little ball through a ring."

"If you think it's so easy, you do it, hotshot." He retrieves the ball and walks over to me, pressing it to my stomach, daring me to grab it with his raised brows and his crooked smile and his dark-dark eyes.

So I do, giving him a playful bat of my lashes. "Fine. But you have to help me."

"I already showed you," he says.

I shake my head and hand the ball back to him. I reach out, grab his arm for pretend-support as I take my high-heels off—as if I need to hold on to someone to take my shoes off. I've mastered the art of removing heels without once wobbling. I did that when I was eight.

But his arm is firm and hard and so warm. He's taken off his suit jacket and rolled the sleeves of his button-down up so all I touch is smooth skin.

I remove one shoe, then the other, dainty-slow, before putting them aside. I grab the ball back from him and walk to the center of the patio like he did before.

Then I beckon him over with a small smile and a curl of my fingers. "Come here. Show me."

Edward's smile turns a little doubtful. His eyes skirt to the left, just for a moment, and I see him weighing the options. But, after all, I'm just Renee's sixteen-year-old daughter. What harm could I be?

So he walks over, stands behind me.

I'm already drowning in the heat of him that's so much more intense than the air of summer. I'm drowning in the scent of him, too—sweat and spicy cologne and minty gum.

"All right," he says, deep voice rumbling right behind me, and my heart squeezes so tight I have to hold my breath for a second. "Bend your knees," he instructs.

I do. I press back into him, just a little, because I can't resist.

He clears his throat and pulls back ever so slightly, so I can only feel the whisper of his body against mine.

But then his arms go around me, and I'm spinning.

Rough, big hands smooth down my arms. I don't know if he means to or not. It doesn't matter for the way my body reacts. His palms stop when they're over my hands, which are holding the ball and trying so desperately not to tremble.

He guides me into holding the ball the right way.

"Now, you have to aim," he says, and I know I hear a smile in his voice. He must surely hear how hard my heart is beating for him. Or maybe he feels the slight trembles in my body, the held-back sighs of contentment in my chest.

"Okay," I say. I step back. My back presses against his hard chest. I can feel the heat of his skin so good that way.

He doesn't back up this time.

He doesn't clear his throat either.

His voice is smooth, dark, deep in my ear. "Shoot."

He guides my hands again, and the ball arches through the air. It doesn't go through the hoop because of something I did, but neither of us really seem to notice or care.

The two best seconds of my life so far, stretch on seemingly infinite as we stand here, my body still pressed against his.

But then he steps back and says, "Not so easy, huh?"

I sigh dramatically and turn towards him. His eyes are darker than before. One look at him makes my whole world wobble.

I say, "I suppose not. Maybe throwing isn't best for me. Teach me something else." I suddenly decide I love basketball. I want to learn everything about it.

As long as Edward is teaching.

"Your breath smells like champagne," he accuses suddenly, his eyes narrowing but a smile quirking his lips.

"You gonna arrest me?"

"No, I don't arrest people." He shrugs. "I'd prosecute you, though."

I laugh and bounce over to where the ball rests beneath the hoop. I bend down to get it, and when I turn back around, Edward's looking away, all sketchy.

Looking at my ass again.

I nearly float as I walk back over to him, my eyes finding his from beneath my lashes. I let my lips curve into my very best smile. "Teach me how to bounce it like they do on TV."

He chuckles. The sound is purely erotic. "Dribbling?"

"Whatever," I say, shrugging.

He gives me a look and then jerks the ball from me. He shows me how. Then he hands it back over. I'm not very good, but I'm better at this than shooting, apparently.

"Keep me from getting it," he says, and then reaches for it.

So when it strikes the concrete and bounces back up to my waiting hand, I grab it and hold it to my chest, protecting it.

Edward laughs. His eyes squint so beautifully. "You can't do that. It's called holding."

"You said to keep you from getting it. I did. You should tell me all the rules before expecting me to know them," I say, all sass, and he arches his brows and I arch mine back.

I see the intent before the motion.

I turn just in time before Edward tries to steal the ball away. I gasp-giggle as his arms go around me again, playful-rough but never harmful, and he's not-really-trying to get it back.

"Stop," I laugh as he grabs at me, hauling me backwards. He's tickling me without realizing it, so when he does, the intensity is almost too much. It's funny naturally, but it's Edward doing this to me, so I'm laughing and gasping and feeling so warmed and crazy, and it's too much.

I'm a mess of half-formed protests and giggles and small screams and pitiful little swats at him—because I don't want to break a nail, obviously.

I am not broken nails.

"Edward, no," I hiccup, almost falling, but he catches me. And somehow I manage to duck away from him. I run, bare feet scrubbing against summer-sun-warmed concrete, and I go for the hoop.

Boyfriend That Gambled on Sports watched enough basketball on the living room TV for me to know what the object is.

But the hoop is so far up.

I jump as best I can, but I only make it a little way up, and Edward is laughing so loud and hard behind me that I can't believe it. I look over at him with a glare that turns into a smile as I see him hunched over, holding his stomach, red-faced hysterical.

I pout. "You're so mean."

He straightens a little, only to look over at me and be wracked by laughter again. He has the beginning of tears in his eyes, and his real laughter is so cute and beautiful.

"You only made it like, half a foot," he says breathlessly, staggering over to me.

"Oh, shut up," I say, tossing my hair. "I told you basketball wasn't where my talents lie."

"Then where do your talents lie, Miss Swan?" Edward's return is so effortless that I know he didn't think it through. He grabs the ball from me, and his cheeks are still red from laughter.

Before he can realize what he's doing, I smile slow and quiet, looking up at him from beneath my fringe of lashes. I say, "That's a secret. I can tell you I'm very good at walking in heels. And accessorizing."

"That will be very useful in the real world," he says, nodding, fake-serious.

"Like tossing a ball through a hoop would either," I sniff, jerking the basketball back from him. "Besides, you don't know anything. 'Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world.'"

"Okay, Marilyn," he says, rolling his eyes. Then he says, "Turn around and aim."

I look at him in question but do as he asks.

Then I feel his hands on my waist, grabbing, really, really grabbing, and before I can swoon, my feet aren't on the ground and I can reach the hoop. I sink the ball through.

Edward sits me carefully back on solid concrete, but my ground is shaky. I turn in the hold he's yet to relinquish, and I look up at him, lean against him a little too much, and I know I'm pressing my hand but I don't care.

I say, a little breathless, because maybe I'm faking or maybe I'm not, "You're strong."

Edward's looking down at me, and the fun light in his eyes is dead, and he's just looking conflicted. I see the doubt in his face—because, like before, I'm just Renee's daughter—but I see the hesitation, too—because, I am Renee's daughter—and then I see something else, too.

But before I can decipher it, the patio door is opening and Edward's letting go of me like I'm on fire.

He's reaching down for the fallen basketball to give himself something to do, and I smooth out my dress and pray for a breeze to cool the light in my eyes.

It's only a server, though, dressed in a fine tux.

The young man's dark eyes dance between the two of us, but he's a professional and he sees these kinds of scenes all the time. "Mr. Cullen, your mother is looking for you."

"Okay, Jason, thank you," Edward says.

Then Jason is gone, and Edward's rubbing at his neck and not making eye contact.

"Better go back in," he says and then he's gone, too.

But I just smile and look up at the sky and see the stars.

* * *

**If anyone wants to know what Bella's dress looks like, please visit my profile page. I'll put up a link. If anyone wants to know who I kinda envision as Bella, just do a Google Image search for Jane Greer. oxoxox**

**Also, I was planning on responding to everyone's reviews, but it's gotten a bit out of hand for me. If you have a direct question, I will gladly answer it. Or message me directly, and I'll answer that, too. I'd love to answer questions! (; But just know that my gratitude is with you and I'm sending thousands of hugs to every person that says a sweet thing. (I still plan on reading all reviews). Thank you! (;**

**No more long A/N's after this. I cross my heart.**


	7. Chapter 7

**I apologize for the delay. Right now is a super busy time for me! Thank you, again, to VampiresHaveLaws for waiting around for me to finally get this chapter to her!**

**"You can call me queen Bee/ And baby I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule." -Lorde**

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN **

Alice is mine, totally and completely.

She's my girl with the chic angled bob and the always-red lips and the dramatically winged eyeliner.

She's 1960's cool and the smell of cigarettes and delicate perfume. She's small and Audrey-slim, but Twiggy obsessed. She's loud and unapologetic in everything she does—from the way she walks to the way she talks—and I love her.

Having her here is a dream.

"Your room is fabulous, darling," she tells me, padding over the soft, white carpets; inspecting my giant pink princess bed. Alice looks edgy and dark among all the subtle shades of rose and ivory, among the vintage floral prints and the elegant posters of Audrey and Marilyn.

"Thank you," I say, falling onto my bed, sinking into fluffy bedding.

Alice jumps down beside me, and we lay arm-to-arm, staring up at the ceiling and the girlie chandelier.

"I liked your old room better, though," Alice comments.

"I did, too," I say. There's a sigh in my chest that I trap down. But I can't swallow the words about Charlie down. They bubble out, quick and thoughtless. "How's the Chief?"

Alice rubs at her eyes sleepily, jet-lagged from the trip between Washington and New York. "He's okay. He's the Chief."

I nod until the softness of the bed becomes uncomfortable and I have to sit up. I stare at the picture of the man on my bedside table: tall, thin; curly dark hair and a mustache that should have been shaved off in the 1970's. Big brown eyes that are lit with a smile. And in his arms, he holds a six-year-old girl.

Me.

I'm a big princess dress and ribbon-tied pigtails, even then. But unlike now, I was smiling, too. I was smiling so big that you can see my missing front tooth.

I'm wearing a tiara.

The Chief bought it for me that very day.

It isn't why I'm smiling, though—not entirely.

Alice sits up slowly beside me. I can feel her soft gaze on my profile, but she waits a long time before saying, "Why don't you call him?"

"I can't." I stand up sharply and drift over to my white, baroque wardrobe and pull the doors open. "Did you bring a bathing suit?"

Alice is an angel. She goes along with the abrupt change of subject with perfect grace. "Of course I did! Who you think I am? I brought six, to be exact."

I smile and peep over my shoulder at her. I say, "You the bestest."

She blows me a kiss.

* * *

"I'll be back next week," Renee is saying, as if I don't already know. "And I'll have the cameras on, too. And Edward will be checking in on you two. It isn't as if I don't trust you, it's just that I remember what it's like to be young and unsupervised. I don't want anything to get out of hand, you see."

Alice and I sit on the barstools in the kitchen, wrapped in towels as our hair drips chlorine water onto the tiles. Renee is running around, dodging in and out of the rooms in a whirl of skirts and bangles and different bags—all accompanying her to Paris.

I glance over at my other half.

She mouths, "Bitch troll from hell."

Which is a line from Patsy, and I laugh.

"If you want to go somewhere, I'm sure Carmen won't mind driving you," Renee adds, dashing into the kitchen with a Louis Vuitton bag overflowing with scarves. "I'm leaving the Range Rover."

"Both of my bitches drive Range Rovers," Alice sings.

Renee blinks. Sighs. And then quickly walks out of the kitchen, hollering more instructions (peppered with half-ominous threats) as she runs through the house. She always waits until the last minute to pack, like me.

Of course, the rushing isn't like me at all.

I am never rushing.

Late is fashionable, anyway.

"Edward is the beau, right?" Alice inquires quietly when Renee is gone.

"Yes." I play with the ends of my wet hair, looking for split ends I know aren't there. I am religious about my hair, of course.

"So Cougar Bait is going to babysit us? How scandalously wonderful," Alice announces. She glances around sneakily. "And you say he's beautiful?"

"Very," I say, batting my lashes.

"Swoon."

"He taught me to play basketball," I say conversationally, looking down at my hair still. But I'm smiling.

"But you hate basketball. Which can only mean one thing. You're in love with him. You are, aren't you? You want to steal Cougar Bait for yourself? Oh my God! This is straight out of Days of Our Lives! The scandal! The intrigue! The disturbing seduction of the whole thing!"

"Stop," I say, laughing.

"Well, you do like him, don't you?" Alice prods.

"I find him visually appealing. It doesn't mean I want to steal him, Alice," I scoff, jumping from the barstool and drifting over to the refrigerator.

"But do you like him?"

I open the freezer door, pretend to debate. I say, "Yes. He's smart. And he's competitive. He's one of those ambitious types."

"Oh, one of those," Alice drawls.

"I know. It's a character flaw I can overlook," I reply. "Strawberry ice cream?"

"God, yes!"

I smile and grab the tub. I don't bother with bowls. I just get two spoons and join Alice once more at the bar. We dig in without a moment's hesitation, lost in strawberry-cool bliss.

Then Alice says, "I met a guy."

And I almost fall off my stool. "What?" I demand. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I just met him," Alice says, not looking at me as she digs for another bite of ice cream.

She's biting her lip to keep her smile from breaking free. "He's tall. Blond. He's Southern, Queen B. Southern. Which means an accent. He says 'ma'am' and holds doors open for me and calls my dad 'sir'. So, of course, my family is in love."

"Are you?" I ask, giggly and bumping her knee with mine.

Alice is glowing rose. "I don't know. We only met a few weeks ago. His family just moved up from Georgia."

"Is he John Wayne cool?"

"James Dean cool. James Dean with a Georgia accent."

"Shut up."

"No."

And then we laugh, and it's like we've never been apart.

I wish we never had been.

* * *

"I love you, Bella," Renee tells me, enveloping my cheeks with cool, dry hands. She kisses my forehead gently.

"I love you, too, Mom," I say, and it's true.

She smiles at me, a little watery-eyed, because she hates leaving me. I know she does. I know she hates spending all her time at the museum, too, even though she loves her art.

It's at times like these, when I can see a human heart in her brown, teary eyes, that I realize my mother is hardly bad.

All she does, she does for us.

I know she does.

It makes it easier to be the first one to give in to a hug. I close my arms around her tightly, pressing my face into her shoulder, trying to feel the overflowing warmth of comfort and happiness I felt when I would embrace her as a child. But that's gone, like everything else, so I just settle for the satisfaction of doing the right thing.

She tells me goodbye, and she's crying.

I return the sentiment and watch her get into the sleek, black car and get driven away—to the airport, towards Paris and art and beauty. And I get left behind.

* * *

The doorbell echoes through the house.

I pause Casablanca and glance over at Alice.

She widens her eyes dramatically.

I smile. "Stay here." I hop up and drift as slowly as I like to the front door. I check my hair in the hall mirror. I smooth out my belled denim skirt and resituate my polka-dot bandeau. I inspect my long, red nails.

Then, when I think he's waited long enough, I open the door.

Edward's wearing his suit, as usual, but this late into the evening he's all wrinkled fabric and a pulled out tie. His hair is a beautiful mess and his eyes are tired, but his smile is devastating. "Hey."

"Hi," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "Coming to check in?"

He nods and runs a hand over his jaw. "Yeah. Making sure you two hadn't burnt down the house or thrown a raging kegger. Or whatever it is Renee thinks you're gonna do."

I smile. "So you think her distrust is ridiculous, too?"

Edward gives me a stomach-twisting crooked smile. "I didn't say that."

I roll my eyes. "Right. Covering your ass."

"That's what a lawyer does." Edward shrugs, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He shifts his weight once. "Well, I guess I should leave."

The urge to look shocked is immediate, but years of practice keep me from betraying my emotions. Instead, I just lean my head against the doorframe and look at him with sad eyes. "Why are you leaving so soon? Shouldn't you come in and make sure Alice and I aren't hiding something?"

Edward is already trying to slip away. He's distant today, the first day I've seen him after the party. He thinks he's going to set things straight, by being aloof and hard to catch on to.

It's kinda funny. Kinda cute.

And a bit annoying.

"I trust you," Edward says.

"You shouldn't," I reply.

Which makes his eyebrows shoot up and a startled laugh push its way free. He looks away from me, off to the side, into the distance. It's his tell, when he's getting uncomfortable.

"You haven't met Alice," I try, less upfront if that's going to scare him off. "She'll wonder why you didn't come in to say hello."

"I'm sure I'll meet her another day this week."

"Is this because of the party?" I ask, point-blank, deciding I'd rather not tiptoe around the issue, after all.

And it's the absolute last thing he expects me to mention. I can tell by the surprise that flits ever so briefly through his eyes.

But he stops trying to run away.

He stands still, with his hands in his pockets, looking at me unwaveringly but with a small pull between his eyebrows, a sign of his confliction. He opens his mouth, and he starts to shake his head.

I cut in before he can protest. "It made you uncomfortable, didn't it?" I ask softly, looking up at him with my very sweetest innocent eyes.

"Bella, look—" he begins, but he's all business, and I don't want his bullshit run-around lines. I want the real reaction I see simmering beneath the surface of his manufactured cool.

"Do I make you uncomfortable, Edward?" My voice is whisper-soft, candy-cotton sweet.

Edward exhales a laugh, but he's looking to the side again, and he's getting antsy. "You're a sixteen-year-old girl."

"Exactly," I say.

Then his eyes are on mine again, dark and intense and devoid of any of the easy warmth he's so good at playing around with. But I think that easiness is all just an act. I think this is really him—fiery eyes and fervor.

He asks, just as blunt as I had been before, "What are you doing?"

I play innocent again. "What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I fucking mean," he explodes, but it's all a hot whisper spoken with one breath.

And just as I think my heartbeat is so loud the whole world can hear it, Alice appears beside me, opening the door up further so she can see the infamous Edward Cullen.

His change is immediate.

He's casual cool once more, hands in his pockets, Steve McQueen-calm.

"Edward, this is Alice," I say, and my heart drops back into its normal, boring beat. "Alice, this is Edward."

"A pleasure, Mr. Cullen, really," Alice drawls and throws her hand out.

He smirks as he shakes with her. "A pleasure to meet you, too. I've heard a lot about you."

"I've heard some about you, too," Alice replies and I can almost imagine her winking. But she doesn't. She just tilts her head at him curiously and comes out with, "You have excellent bone structure."

Edward doesn't miss a beat. "Thank you." He's smiling at her, and I can tell he likes her, too.

It's hard not to like Alice.

"Would you like to join us for our Ab Fab marathon? We're almost done with Casablanca now. That was Queen B's idea. I hate Bogart. She loves him." Alice shrugs.

Edward's smirk is pretty but distant once more. He shakes his head. "Sorry. I have to go do some work on a case. But you two enjoy."

"Very well," Alice sighs, all drama.

I simply look at Edward, a dare in my gaze that he's too smart to fall for.

"Tah-tah!" Alice exclaims before ducking back into the house.

I stay at the doorframe, watching as he turns away and starts down the front steps, to his car. "Goodnight, Edward."

He glances back up at me, jerks his chin in acknowledgement, and I think that will be it. But then he sighs heavily and adds, "Goodnight."

So that's enough for me.

I shut the door and go into the living room, where Alice is sprawled over one of the couches, flipping through Vogue. When she hears my footsteps, she sits up and looks at me with big eyes over the back of the couch. "Holy good looking boys, Batman."

I laugh tiredly as I drift over and move her legs enough so I can sit down.

"He is so hot," Alice groans. "He's, like, wow."

"I told you," I say, putting my feet onto the coffee table and grabbing the remote. I almost hit play and start the movie back up before Alice can keep going. For the first time, I don't want to discuss boys with her.

"You told me on a scale of one to George Clooney, he was George Clooney. But he doesn't even look like George Clooney. And he's hotter than George Clooney. You should have mentioned these things." Alice falls back down to the cushions. "Your mom did good."

I sigh. "Yeah, she did."

* * *

**Thank you, everyone, for reading! I really appreciate all the beautiful people that are leaving such sweet, sweet reviews! Thank you, thank you, thank you. oxoxox**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you to itsanewday for making such wonderful, amazing, stunning, mind-blowing, crazy-beautiful manipulations for this story. You're so talented. Thank you for making the new cover. It's so perfect. oxoxo**

**"Sweet little sixteen/ She's got the grown up blues/ Tight dresses and lipstick/ She's sportin' high heel shoes." -the best, Chuck Berry**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

"Is he seeing anyone?" I ask.

Alice, lounging beside me in the pool chair, rubs more suntan oil on to her ghost-white Washington legs.

"Who?" she shoots back, as if she doesn't know.

She does it to give me time to change my mind. But I rarely say things without thinking them through. So I say, "The Chief."

Alice sighs, falling back against the chair. She straightens her sunglasses. "He is."

"Who?" I inquire, flipping another page in _Vogue_. I haven't read one word. Only something serious can distract me from fashion.

"Sue Clearwater."

"Harry's wife?" I sit up a little and peer at Alice over the tops of my Audrey glasses. My heart flip-flops in the worst kind of way. The Chief can't cheat. He's the law and everything right.

"Harry died," Alice says.

"Oh," I reply, and lie back down. I set my magazine aside, unable to pretend any longer.

"Died a few years ago. Heart attack. He loved fried foods, you know." Alice's voice is cool-calm, but I can hear sadness beneath her tone, just as I can feel the same sadness rising up in my own chest, choking me for a moment.

Alice changes the subject, and I let her.

"So. Where's Cougar Bait? I thought he was supposed to check on us every night. It's been _four_ days. We could have killed ourselves by now with our wild teenager ways."

I grab my cigarettes off the table and light myself one. "I don't know. I think I might have frightened him away."

"Oh, yeah? What'd you do?" Alice sits up and pulls off her glasses. "I thought I sensed a bit of that most delicious _tension_ simmering between the two of you when I popped up at the door."

I blow out a cloud of smoke and stare at the brilliant blue of the pool—something that looks so appealing now, in the heat of the midday sun. "It's nothing really. I think I just make him uncomfortable."

"Maybe he wants to ravage you and that's why," Alice announces, falling back dramatically into the chair.

I laugh, another cloud of smoke slipping past my lips. I look over at her with a small smile. "As if."

"'As if' nothing. You're sixteen, and you're hot. I'd ravage you."

"Stop, Alice," I giggle, kicking my foot at her.

She smiles and shuts her eyes, tilts her pretty feline face up to the sun. "Just imagine it. How scandalous. And we both know it's the scandalous things in life that are hot."

"I should write a poem about it," I say, flicking ash.

"A smutty poem."

I laugh again, shaking my head. "Oh, Alice, darling, you won't do."

* * *

"I don't see how I'm still this pale," Alice complains after three straight hours of sunbathing.

I say, "God doesn't want you to be tan."

Carmen inspects my girl for sunburn. "What I don't see, is how you aren't a lobster after that much sun, _Alicia_."

"I told you I didn't burn, Carmen. I just don't tan, either," Alice sighs.

"Forever pale," I sing.

"Shut up. You're pale, too."

"Ivory skin is Old Hollywood, my love," I say, blowing her a kiss before finding myself a Popsicle from the freezer.

"Ivory, my ass. We're pasty."

"Speak for yourself," I say, picking out a blue raspberry from the box. Those are the only ones I'll eat.

"Carmen, give me some of your golden glow," Alice pleads.

Carmen laughs. "I would if I could, _nena_."

I unwrap my Popsicle and climb into the breakfast nook, looking out at the fading sunset. My body is summer-day warmed and tired, and I think maybe I'm the happiest I've been in a long time. But I'm not sure.

I love Alice, but with Alice comes thoughts of the Chief, too: of small pink princess bedrooms and teddy bears and boas and plastic, pink shoes and goodnight kisses on the forehead. Of a small town. Of trees and rain and cool. Of Daddy.

Suddenly, I'm thankful Alice is only staying two more nights.

* * *

Carmen leaves us at seven.

Alice and I watch _Gaslight_, which is my favorite, and then we watch _Breakfast at Tiffany's_.

It isn't until it's over and Alice is passed out and drooling that the doorbell rings.

I ponder what will happen if I don't answer. He'd probably just unlock the door since Renee gave him a key—a key that holds a lot of implications, I wonder if he even realizes. He'd unlock the door… and he'd have to come inside.

I look down at myself to make sure what I'm wearing is cute. After all, I am _not_ ugly clothes.

Slowly, I get up and tiptoe into the kitchen. I grab a tub of vanilla ice cream and start scooping it out methodically to give myself something to do.

The doorbell rings again.

And then I hear the key in the lock.

I smirk, victorious.

"Hello?" he calls out from the front hall.

I keep scooping so I'll have an excuse as to why I didn't answer the door.

I hear him walk into the living room first. And then, a moment later, he's peeping into the kitchen.

"Hey," he says, frowning. "Didn't you hear me ringing the doorbell?"

"Of course I did," I reply, rolling my eyes. I dig harder at the ice cream, putting on a show for him, pretending I can barely manage the task. "But I'm busy."

Edward looks unimpressed. "Busy making yourself a sundae?"

"Yes." I raise an eyebrow at him before frowning down at the tub of Blue Bell as my arm shakes from the effort of scooping. "I'm sorry you had to go to the trouble of unlocking the door all by yourself."

He rolls his eyes and watches my arm wobbling. A heartbeat later, he lets out a sigh. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Edward? Honestly, you ask the most obvious questions sometimes."

"You're pitiful. You can't even scoop out ice cream," he mutters and then scoots me out of the way, which was what I'd hoped for in the first place.

He's wearing a button-down with the sleeves rolled up tonight, so I can see the muscles in his forearms tighten as he scoops out the ice cream for me. "Let me guess," he says, all sass now. "You've never had to make your own ice cream sundae before."

I bat my lashes. "No. I always get such _sweet_ boys to do it for me." I jerk the bowl away when he puts in one more scoop, and then I turn my back to him as I find chocolate syrup.

"You're pampered," he accuses.

"And you aren't?" I shoot back. I look over my shoulder at him. "Mr. Yale Graduate with rich parents and one of the best paying jobs in the industry?"

"I fix my own food, thank you."

"Well, that just makes you stupid," I reply and focus back on my bowl as I squirt a healthy amount of fudge over the vanilla. "Why do something when you can get someone to do it for you?"

Edward's quiet for a moment, until I look back over at him and smile. And then he laughs and shakes his head.

"I can never tell if you're just fucking with me or being serious," he exhales, rubbing at his face.

"Good. I'll keep you guessing, then," I say. "Want an ice cream sundae?"

"You offering to make me one?" he asks, all smart-ass.

"No, I'm offering you the supplies to make your own." I turn and stick my tongue out at him. "Besides, I already made you eggs that one morning. We're even now."

"Yeah, sure." Edward rolls his eyes and puts the ice cream tub back into the freezer… which means he'll soon make his exit.

So I say something to keep him around. "Where've you been? Alice and I could have gotten multiple tattoos and face piercings by now."

Edward smirks and crosses his arms over his chest. He leans his hip against the kitchen island. "You don't strike me as the type of girl to get a bar through your nose."

"Well, I never say never," I return, shrugging.

He chuckles and rubs at the back of his neck. Stalling. "I have an important case I'm working on. Lots of things to do. I haven't had time to come and make sure you haven't gotten yourselves into trouble."

"Oh? I thought it might have had something to do with our conversation last time," I murmur, my hands held innocently behind my back. "I thought maybe I'd scared you off."

The challenge sparkles and dances in Edward's eyes. "It takes a little more than a sixteen-year-old girl to scare me off."

"Well, that's comforting—given your profession and all. I feel much safer," I say.

Edward smirks at me, and he's devastatingly Hollywood handsome. But then his smile fades and he clears his throat, and he's all business again. He's all wrong. "I did want to clear the air with you first, before I go."

"Go right ahead," I offer graciously.

His eyes flicker up to meet mine before looking down to the floor, calculating. He's piecing together his wording until it's just right. It's only then that he speaks, and he does so without pause.

"I realize I haven't been conducting myself in the most suitable manner around you, and I wanted to apologize for that. I never apologize unless I know I'm in the wrong, and this time, I am. Completely. The things I've said with you and the things I've done—they're just inappropriate, really."

I take this in, or at least pretend to. And then, so slowly, I give him a small smile. I shrug. And I say, "I don't mind."

Edward's eyes find mine immediately, surprise and confliction dawning over his beautiful features. His lips part, but he doesn't say anything.

My smile curves wider, ever so slightly, and then I grab my sundae bowl and start making my way back to the living room. I put the right sway and twist into my walk—subtle but there—and then I peep over my shoulder at him, where he stands a bit dumbfounded in the middle of the kitchen. "Goodnight, Edward," I say, sugar-sweet, and then leave him.

* * *

"I'm going to miss you so much, Queen B," Alice says, hugging me so tightly.

I smile and hug her back, but my heart isn't in it. I'm relieved she's going. She's going back and taking all the memories with her. She's going back to where I came from, where she belongs, where I'll never be again.

"Call me when you get in," I tell her.

"Okay," she sniffles and pulls back.

The black car sits in the driveway behind her, waiting to take her to the airport. I want her to go, to climb inside and drive away, which makes me feel terrible, but I can't help it. I need her to leave. I need her to leave so I don't have to think of things better forgotten.

"I love you, Eddie," she says, because I was always Eddie and she was always Patsy when we were kids.

"I love you, too, Patsy," I respond, and this I do mean. I really do. You can love someone and not want them around at the same time. I know it to be true.

And then she leaves.

I wave at her and watch the car drive out of sight.

And when it's gone, I am sweet-pure relief.

* * *

Renee is coming home, and the household is abuzz.

Carmen is cooking a feast.

The gardener is making sure all the roses are perfectly trimmed and the lawns are immaculate.

Carmen's husband, Eleazar, pressure washes the drive.

I'm the only one actively _not_ doing anything.

Nothing except sitting poolside and drinking Coca-Cola out of a glass bottle, dreaming of black-and-white drama and musical poetry.

The sun is hot and golden-perfect against my skin as I muse. The smell of flowers is a thick perfume in the air, and the sounds of a busy house are comforting, in a way, and I savor the peace.

Until Edward appears in light-colored linen suit, looking forever cool on such a hot day. He's casual and rumpled and filled with effortless grace as he walks up and sits down on the edge of the pool chair next to mine. He gives me a cute pursed-up grin. "Hey," he says.

"Hi," I reply, looking at him through the lenses of my big sunglasses.

"Do you have a cigarette?"

I smirk and grab my pack off the table. "I thought you were quitting?"

He extracts one of the smokes from the packet before placing it between his lips. It dangles there as he grins and searches for a lighter in his pocket. "I am."

"Starting tomorrow, right?" I lie my head back against the pool chair and close my eyes.

"Right." I hear the hiss of the lighter and know without looking how beautiful he is when inhaling the first pull of smoke: cheeks hollowed and eyes squinting. Then he's speaking, and I can imagine him exhaling clouds of gray along with his words. "You know when your mom's coming in?"

"In an hour or so," I remark.

"Have you talked to her while she's been gone?"

"No," I say. "I suppose you have."

"Yeah." He sounds a little distant. "I called her Wednesday, I think. She sounded busy."

"She always is," I drawl.

Edward is quiet for a suspiciously long time before inquiring, seemingly out of the blue, "Do you hate her?"

"Who?" I ask, playing innocent.

"Your mom."

"No," I sigh. "In fact, I love her very much. That's the problem."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I sit up and remove my floppy sunhat and then my Audrey glasses. I take my wedges off carefully, aware of Edward's eyes on me and my retro bikini-clad body. Then I smile at him and stand up. I say, "Ask Renee. She's the one with all the answers," before I flounce away from him, to the edge of the pool, where I wait for one breathless moment before plunging into the icy-cool water.

* * *

**Thank you, all, for reading. You the bestest. (; oxoxox**


	9. Chapter 9

**VampiresHaveLaws is the most amazing. She's a miracle worker.**

**"I can make you mine/ Taste your lips of wine/ Anytime night or day." -the most beautiful babies that ever sang, whom I love dearly, The Everly Brothers**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

"Did you have fun with Alice?" Renee asks me, sleepy-eyed and sleepy-voiced.

We're sitting on the couch together, curled up, our feet touching.

I smile and yawn. "Yeah, I did."

"Good." Renee reaches over to run her fingers through my hair slowly. "I'm glad. You know that, right? I know I can be difficult when it comes to her, but you understand why. Don't you, sweet pea?"

"Yeah," I say softly, sleep pulling at my eyelids.

It feels like this day will never end. Ever since Renee arrived a few hours earlier, I've been talking and listening and pretending to be whatever I'm expected to be. Carmen only just left an hour ago. Edward left ten minutes ago.

He kissed my mom goodbye.

I've been feeling a nagging sense of wrongness ever since. I just want to crawl into my bedroom and sink into pink princess sheets and dream in black-and-white glamour.

But Renee wants to talk, just her and me.

"Was Alice doing well?" she asks, still pulling her fingers steadily through my hair. It's putting me to sleep.

"Yes. She is." I shift and smooth my hands down my dress. I am _not_ wrinkles, even if I'm sleep deprived and full-day tired. "He's seeing someone."

Renee's eyes widen. "What? Who is?"

"The Chief," I reply, and I won't look at her now. I stare down at my hands as they methodically go over the white cotton fabric of my sundress. "He's seeing Sue Clearwater."

"Harry's wife?"

"He died."

Renee goes quiet, just like I knew she would. But soon will come the "Well, I'm glad he's happy" line and the "I'm glad he's moving on" speech and the "This is good for him" assurance. I don't think I can stand hearing them tonight. I know her, and I know she'll say them, but I don't think I'll be able to stand it.

I break in before she gets the chance to push at my sanity. "Don't say anything. I don't want you to say anything."

Renee stays quiet for me. Her fingers stop combing through my hair and instead she touches my cheek gently. "Okay," she murmurs.

I sigh and almost lean over to put my head on her shoulder; to let her play with my hair until I fall asleep, like she did when I was little. But I don't. Instead, I stand up and tell her how tired I am, how I want to go up to bed.

She says goodnight. She says she loves me.

But I wonder if she really does.

* * *

Sometime during the night, I decide I can't sleep.

So I do what I always do in the summertime: I put my bathing suit on and tiptoe downstairs.

I know Edward will be there before I confirm it with my own eyes.

He's on the couch, over his law books again, looking rumpled and half-asleep. His bronzy hair sticks out in every direction, a mess his hands have created.

He barely looks up when I come in. "Hey."

"Hi." I eye the explosion of papers and files. "I guess you want to sue your neighbor at this point, hm?"

"I've thought about it," he admits and stretches his arms up to the ceiling.

I tilt my head at him and offer a barely curving smile. "Come outside with me," I say, gentle-quiet and oh-so imploringly.

He glances over, his green eyes so sexy-sleepy that my heart flip-flops a little. His answering smile is slow and cool and leading man perfect. "Okay," he says, making me smile again.

* * *

"Are you gonna swim with me tonight?" I inquire as I sashay towards the edge of the pool. I peep back over my shoulder at him, offering a challenging little smirk.

He grins lazily as he walks towards a pool chair. "I don't have swim trunks with me."

I shrug and turn around to face him, walking backwards slowly and carefully. Because tripping is not an option, of course. "So? You can swim in your underwear."

Edward doesn't look shocked. He just gives me a doubtful, playful look as he takes a seat.

"Unless you think that would be _inappropriate_," I tease.

He jerks his chin up at me, a smirk curving his lips as he pats his pants pockets and finds a pack of cigarettes.

I roll my eyes at him before walking to the pool's edge. I dip my toes in delicately, shivering when I feel how icy the water is. I glance over at Edward, who's watching me with a cigarette dangling between his lips. His hand cups around the end as he lights it, and then he's blowing out a stream of cloudy smoke.

"Too cold?" he asks.

I don't answer because sometimes it's best not to. Sometimes it's best to leave them hanging, even over the most simple of things.

I jump into the pool, and it's so thrilling-cold that it takes my breath. I sink all the way down into the water, opening my eyes against the chlorine sting, seeing the sparkling bubbles from my dive swim up around me, seeing the cool neon blue of the pool lights.

I stay down as long as I can, until my lungs start their typical burn, and then I push myself back to the surface and take in a drink of oxygen.

Languidly, I swim over to the shallow end so I can touch the bottom, and then I stand and start wringing out my hair methodically. I peep over at Edward, and he's still watching me; tonight, he doesn't skip his gaze away. He just keeps looking, and I don't turn away because I wear waterproof makeup and have no fear of raccoon eyes.

I am always looking polished, even when I'm swimming.

I am always wearing makeup, even when I'm by myself.

I am always wanting to feel glamorous, even when it's just for myself.

"How's your case going?" I ask Edward, drifting closer to the edge of the pool, closer to where he sits and smokes and watches me with his pretty, dark eyes.

"It's okay. I think we're swaying the jury the right way," he replies.

I nod and then fold my forearms on the edge of the pool. My chin sits atop them, and I look up at him beneath my water-damp lashes. "Can I have a cigarette?" I ask softly and so, so sweetly.

Edward's eyes are dark and not fooled. But he grabs the pack and moves to crouch before me. "Here," he says, handing me a smoke.

I place it delicately between my lips and wait.

Edward pulls his lighter back out slowly and ignites the end of the cigarette for me.

I smile and blow out a small cloud of smoke, my eyes holding on to his from beneath my lashes. "Thank you."

His smirk is his response and it's heavenly.

Then his eyes drop down a little, to my collarbone. A small pucker forms between his brows and he leans in closer to get a better look. I can smell smoke and minty gum and spicy cologne—the scent is all him and all wonderful.

"That's an interesting necklace," he says.

I reach up and touch the little charm I know by heart. "It's a dream catcher—just without the feathers." I smile at him faintly. "My father gave it to me when I was six."

Edward's features shift into a state of perfect composure under the strain of my uncomfortable words. He leans back from me, but he doesn't get up—not yet. He stays crouched before me, his hands between his knees, his eyes on the necklace and his mind running behind his distant eyes.

"That's Husband Number One, in case you were wondering," I say playfully, letting more smoke whisper over my lips into the dark night.

Edward's eyes find mine again. "I don't know much about Renee's previous romantic interests."

"I don't imagine you would," I say. I tilt my head at him and smile. "You're just burning up with curiosity, though, aren't you?"

Edward cracks a brief smile and shrugs, but that's his only answer. I suppose he's turning the tables on me, now.

I take a small puff off my cigarette and let my eyes drift away, to the sky, where the stars are out tonight in full force, winking diamonds shining down on us. Words are rising up in my chest; I can't keep them down.

"My father was a good man," I say, and my voice is quiet and stripped too bare and I try to stop, but I can't. "He tucked me in every night, and he put princess Band-Aids on my scraped knees, and he played tea party with me even when he hated it." I blink rapidly and look back at Edward, who is listening—who's _really_ listening. I whisper, "His only fault was that he wasn't ambitious enough. He was small town, and Renee wasn't."

"That's why they divorced?" Edward questions, and his voice is too gentle, too soft.

I blow out an irritable sigh and smear the end of my cigarette out on the concrete. "I don't know. You'd have to ask Renee. I was too little to remember." It's all lies, of course, but I'm done talking about it.

Talking doesn't help anything.

It just fucks everything up.

It makes you lose your mystery, and mystery is all a girl really has going for her.

"Do you want to know a secret, Edward?" I ask softly, keeping my gaze hidden from him as I methodically rub out the cigarette's orange-hot light.

He's quiet for only a moment. "Okay," he says, because he thinks it has something to do with Renee and her past and it makes me angry.

And I hate being angry.

Leading ladies are always cool, calm and collected, and rage is so unbecoming on me.

So I take a deep breath and smile up at him. "Never mind. I don't think I'm ready to give up all my secrets just yet." Then I wink and dip back down into the water, swimming down, down, down to the bottom and holding my breath until I think my lungs will explode.

* * *

"Esme Cullen wants to have us over," Renee says at the dinner table.

I push green beans around the plate with my fork and arch an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Yes." Renee takes a small sip of wine. "She's having a little fundraiser for abused women. She invited us to attend brunch at her home."

I don't comment but merely continue to push my food around idly.

"She thought we might like to go."

"Well, might we?" I drawl and look up at Renee.

She dabs at her mouth with a napkin before dropping it into her lap with a sigh. "Honestly, Bella, I don't understand why you've been so irritable with me lately. Have I done something to upset you?"

"No."

"Is it because I'm spending so much time at the museum? You know it requires all of my heart and soul. I have to keep it up as best I can. It's my job. It's what keeps us living this way." She motions around to our grand, too big dining room with the too big table that only seats us. It just seems all so pointless.

But all I say is, "I thought what kept us living this way was The Count's money."

Renee glares, and the look is foreign on a face so used to smiling sweetly. "Isabella, I don't know what has gotten into you."

"You know exactly what it is," I snap, and I drop my fork. It clatters against the plate. "You know what's wrong. You just don't care."

"Stop it," Renee hisses, her hands bracing against the table's edge. There's a quiver in her voice, and I'm unsure if the cause is tears or anger.

I swallow down my own rising rage and look at her dully, deadly. In a flat voice, I say, "I'm unhappy. I am so _gloriously_ unhappy, Mother. I know you know. And you just don't care, do you?"

"Of course I care!" she cries, and it's the first time I've heard her raise her voice in years and years. It's like music to my ears. "I do care, Bella! I know you aren't happy! I know you miss your father. That's what this is about, isn't it?"

I just shake my head, disgusted by her, disgusted by everything about her in this moment. But even now, I can't hate her.

Renee takes in a shaky breath, composing herself, putting on her calm airs once again. She blinks rapidly and swallows. "I know you don't agree with my choices, Bella. I know the position I've put you in is hard. I know that I haven't been a good mother. But God knows, I've tried. And all the things I do, I do for us." Her eyes find mine, and they're truer than they've been in so long.

And I want to cry because I see her, I _really_ see her, and I miss her.

"You were not born to be a small town girl, baby," she tells me, shaking her head fiercely. "And neither was I. We are more than that."

I inhale deeply and blink, hard, pushing the tears back to where they belong—hidden and unshed. "Maybe a small town life isn't so horrible."

Renee stares at me like I've cut her open, like I've ripped out her heart and stomped it into the ground. And I feel ashamed. I really do. I want to take the words back as soon as they're out, but I can't. Once something is said, it's forever. That's why I have to be so careful. That's why I have to think through things before I say them.

That's what I always do.

I am always thinking before speaking.

But tonight I didn't, and my mom is broken-hearted.

"You say that," she whispers, her lips trembling. She looks down at the napkin in her lap, and she folds it over methodically, smoothes it out; fiddles with it as she blinks tears away. "You say that but you don't know, Bella. You don't know what it's like to be poor. You don't know what it's like. It's not glamorous, sweet pea. And you're all glamour. You deserve better."

And with that, she pushes away from the table and excuses herself.

* * *

"Do you think I'm spoiled, Carmen?" I ask.

She laughs as she sits beside me, poolside. "No, Isabel. I think you like living comfortably, but I've worked for spoiled children before. You aren't."

"You wouldn't tell me if I was," I say with a small, sad smile. I stare at the pool without seeing it.

"I wouldn't lie to you, _nena_."

I sigh and lean back against the pool chair, my skin summer-sun warmed and flushed. "Do you think I could live a simple life? Do you think I could live without money?"

Carmen's eyes are on me—I can feel her gaze. She's quiet for a long time, picking her words. "I think you could. I don't know if you'd like that, though. Being poor isn't as easy as it sounds, you know."

I turn my head, resting my cheek on the chair's cushion, and smile at her. "You're funny."

Carmen smiles back, all warmth and sweet brown eyes.

I reach out and grab her hand. I lace our fingers together tightly and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze.

She lets me. She squeezes back, just as hard.

And then I look away from her, back to the pool, and close my tear-stinging eyes.

* * *

**On a side note, if you don't know who the Everly Brothers are... please look them up. They're angel-babies. **

**Thank you all for reading. Y'all are sweethearts! oxoxox**


	10. Chapter 10

**"Oh that grace, oh that body/ Oh that face makes me wanna party." -y'all know who it is (;**

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

Today I am a light blue, white polka-dotted dress. I am a halter style with a '50s retro skirt. I am a high-swinging ponytail and white Keds and teenybopper glamour.

I am sitting by my mother, who is all high cheekbones and grace. She's modern chic and effortless old glam, all at once. And today, she seems more radiant than ever as she smiles so beautifully at Esme.

Renee is happy.

I can't believe it at first. But the longer I look at her, the more she glows in the still-soft sunlight of midmorning. She's all light laughter and a carefree voice and shimmery eyes.

It's Esme. It has to be.

Being around Esme is being around pure light itself. She's all luminescence and warmth. She's rainbow colors.

Out of all the other tables set up on the Cullen mansion patio—she sits at ours. She treats us like royalty. She treats Renee like she isn't the forty-year-old dating her young son. She treats me like I'm not the cradle snatcher's daughter.

She treats us like family.

Renee soaks it in.

And I do, too.

It's been a long time since we've had any family, besides each other.

* * *

We take the long way back home, windows down and hot summer air flying through, pulling at our hair.

I watch the hilly countryside roll by, picking my words carefully. Then I say, "Esme's nice, isn't she?"

Renee drives with one hand on the wheel, the other at her mouth, the backs of her knuckles pressing lightly into her lips—it's what she always does when she's thinking about something upsetting. "Yes, she is," she murmurs distantly.

"Is it an act or is she being genuine?" I ask, just to make sure.

"Genuine." Renee inhales deeply. "Esme doesn't know how to be anything but nice. She's a lovely person. A pure person."

I have a question on the tip of my tongue, but I push it back and lock it away. Instead, an entirely different question falls too easily from my lips. "Do you love him?"

I almost expect Renee to ask "Who?" But she doesn't because she knows who I mean and she isn't going to play games today.

"It's too early to tell," she murmurs. Her knuckles brush back and forth idly over her lips, the pained look in her eyes never once fading as she watches the road. "Love isn't always obvious, Bella."

I fiddle with my necklace and turn my face towards the open window, watching as green pastures rush by. In the distance, the clouds are dark gray and electric, brewing, moving closer, ready to shower us with summer rain and storm.

"Did you love Dad?" I ask quietly.

She stays quiet for the longest time, but I know she heard me, even over the wind. She drops her hand away from her mouth and places it on the steering wheel. Her lips press together tightly for a moment, and then she says, softly, "I don't want to talk about your father. Not today."

I just say, "Okay."

* * *

"Let's go to the bedroom."

"But Bella's home, isn't she?"

I'm sick and swaying with repulsion, and I need to climb back up the stairs and go back to my room and hide in my princess bed and listen to music. But I can't. I'm stuck here, hanging on Edward's decision.

"She's home," Renee murmurs. "But she's in her room. She has been all day. I think she's angry with me."

"Why do you think she's angry?" he asks.

Both of their voices are low, whispered, heated, and I just know they've been kissing, right on the couch, in the living room, right here in this house, and it makes me weak. It really does. I have to lean against the wall for support, and I feel dramatic, but I don't care.

I've always been drama and overreacting—but quietly and in my head—because I am _not_ making a scene and being _that_ girl. Leading ladies don't make cheap scenes.

But going to pieces in your head, without anyone knowing, is oh-so lonely and sad.

"She doesn't agree with some of my choices." Renee sighs heavily. I imagine her putting her head on Edward's shoulder, and I'm seized with jealousy. Such simple touches come so easy for her.

"Us dating?" he asks, because he's oblivious, at least to this.

"No. She likes you, Edward. It isn't that."

He's quiet for a moment and then, almost hesitantly, he says, "She mentioned her dad to me the other day."

"She did?" Renee asks, just a fraction of a second too quickly.

But Edward must not notice. "Yeah. She just told me about a necklace he bought for her. She seems to miss him."

Renee is the silent one now. It feels like an eternity before she replies. "She loved her father very much. She misses him."

"Loved?"

Renee's exhale can be heard by me all the way on the top of the steps. "Charlie hasn't contacted Bella in years and years—not since the divorce. And that was twelve years ago."

"Why the hell doesn't he call?" Edward asks, irritated.

"I have no clue. I haven't heard from Charlie, either. Our divorce wasn't exactly amicable."

"Why make Bella pay for that, though? I mean, she's his kid."

"I don't know, Edward." Renee says tiredly. "But I don't want to talk about this. We were debating on something else, a moment ago."

And then they stop talking for the longest time, and I know what they're doing.

Inside, my overreaction rages.

I imagine running downstairs and disrupting them and crying and telling Edward everything, right in front of Renee. But that's so far from reality that it's almost comical. I know I'd never do such a thing.

It'd be silly and so very un-glamorous.

"Wait, wait, Renee," Edward says and he's all breathless and I'm all sick and sad. "Wait for a second."

"Come upstairs," Renee tries again.

"But Bella—"

"She's in her room on the second floor, darling. My room is on the third floor—on the other side of the house, even."

"Yeah, but it feels kinda weird, knowing she's here."

Renee blows out a sigh. "Why are you always so worried about what she's doing?"

"Well, I think _someone_ should be," he snaps.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Renee asks, frigid.

"I don't think I need to elaborate for you to understand," he returns, and now he's just as cool-calm-collected as Renee.

"Do you want to raise my child? Is that it? Do you want to pretend to be her father?" Renee's voice is sugar-sweet condescension.

"Oh, don't fucking start," he mutters dully, offhandedly.

I feel my eyes widen.

No one's ever talked to Renee that way, and I'm shocked.

And she is, too, apparently.

"Don't start what?" she demands.

"Being this way. Twisting everything I say. I don't feel right about fucking you a level up from your sixteen-year-old daughter, and you turn this into me wanting to take over raising your kid. How does that work?" he asks, all cool sarcasm.

She doesn't know how to combat his words, so she switches tactics. "I just think it's a little odd how concerned you always are with my daughter's feelings."

"I don't really give a shit what you think about it. I'm just trying to be considerate. Because she sure as hell is, given the situation."

I expect a snapping, biting, digging response from my mother. But instead, I'm greeted with quiet.

And then the smallest of sighs.

"You're right," she murmurs, and I am all surprise and awe.

And then suspicion.

But she goes on. "You're right. This is the reason. This is why. This is why she's mad at me." Renee's voice gets muffled, as if she's maybe covered her face with her hands. "It's really no surprise. I'm not good at this. I'm not good at _not_ being selfish, Edward. It's why I'm not a good mother."

I know Renee. I know her better than anyone living, but in this moment, I can't tell if she's being manipulative or being true. She can be so good at both, it's hard to distinguish between the two anymore.

So I'm not sure, but I am sure that I don't want to know Edward's response. I don't want to know if he softens or not.

So I just drag myself back to my room and shut the door and turn out the lights and play my records loud enough not to hear any passing footsteps, should they fall outside my room.

* * *

I don't see Edward for a whole week.

He comes over three times in the night, due to his noisy neighbor, but I never go downstairs.

I'm being good but I don't know why.

* * *

Another week passes, and I overhear Renee and Edward arguing again, this time about whether or not he'll move in.

Renee tries with flawless ease to sway him to her side with sweet words and gentle imploring. But he sees through it and calls her on her "bullshit" at least six times throughout the conversation, each in a new and creative and utterly biting way.

And then she argues back with him just as fiercely and I can't believe it. I can't believe he can make my mother, the queen of the cold shoulder, stutter and misplace her comebacks.

It must be the lawyer in him.

* * *

Being good only ever lasts so long.

I tiptoe down the steps in lace pajama shorts and the most delicate white camisole.

Edward's in the living area, of course, hunched over his books and notes. He smirks when he hears me, but he doesn't look up. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd given up your midnight swims."

I drift over to him, slow-slow-slow with perfect sway.

I learned how to walk like a real woman from Joan Holloway when I was ten.

"Never," I say. And then with a small smile, I add, "But I'm not swimming tonight."

Edward finally looks over to catch my perfected walk. His eyes drop down, down, down, over my pajamas and the legs that I flaunt, but then he remembers himself. His eyes firmly plant on mine again. "Oh, yeah? What are you doing, then?"

I put a mysterious curve to my lips before climbing onto the couch next to him, tucking my legs under my bottom and facing him completely. "Would you like to watch a movie with me?" I ask, sugar-sweet innocent.

Edward stares a moment longer before his gaze dances down to safety—his books. "I wish I could. But I have a lot of work tonight."

"Oh," I sigh, looking away, to the glass wall and the seductive blue pool beyond. "That's a shame. No one ever wants to watch movies with me."

He laughs a little at my shameless pity-play. "Yeah, Renee isn't much for movies, is she?"

"No," I say, as if it's a travesty.

"You like them, though, huh?" Edward asks, his index finger tracing along a line of text in his book. Then he's jotting it down on a legal pad.

"Oh, I live and breathe movies," I hum dreamily.

Edward's smirk reappears as he writes. "Yeah? What kind?"

"Black-and-white ones, of course. The classics. The glamorous ones," I say, resting my chin on the edge of my palm. "They're the best ones. When I can't sleep and I don't feel like swimming, I always watch one of my favorites and it puts me right to bed."

Edward glances over at me. His hair has fallen into tired, green eyes. "You have trouble sleeping?"

I shrug and say, quietly, "Sometimes." But really, it's most of the time.

Edward doesn't need to know that, though.

He stretches and says, "Well, maybe this work isn't _that_ pressing. I'll just watch one."

I smile because I know he's taking pity on me, but that doesn't matter if it gets the same result.

So I hop up and bounce over to the movie drawer. I bend down to pick out _Gaslight_, which is one of my very favorites. And when I straighten and peep back over my shoulder at Edward, he's looking at me with a small smirk.

It wobbles me a little, because I had expected him to quickly glance away and clear his throat and act regretful, but he doesn't.

He's looking, and he doesn't care that I'm looking back.

"What?" I inquire, arching a brow at him.

He grins and shakes his head. And then lets out a quiet laugh before running his hands over his face tiredly.

"What are you laughing about?" I ask, pretending to be offended as I open the DVD player below the TV.

"Are those your pajamas?" He jerks his chin at my attire.

"Yes." I give him a look. "What about them? Are they not to your standards?"

"They're above standard." He shakes his head again. "I thought maybe at least your pajamas wouldn't be fancy. I thought maybe they'd be like a regular teenager's—like a holey T-shirt or something."

I almost laugh out loud at the idea.

I am _not_ a holey T-shirt.

And I am _not_ a regular teenager.

But aloud, I say, playfully, "Well, you never know who you're going to run into."

"In the middle of the night?" Edward asks dryly, raising his brows at me.

"You're here in the middle of the night, aren't you?" I return.

His eyes flash dangerously and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his spread knees. "So you dressed up in fancy pajamas for me?"

My heart flip, flops and flies in my chest. But I just roll my eyes daintily and say, "Oh, please. Don't flatter yourself. This is how I dress every night, Edward."

"Do you ever just throw on a pair of sweatpants?"

"What are sweatpants?" I ask, aghast as I put the DVD in. Then I smirk at him when he starts buying into my question.

He laughs and falls back against the couch. "You're the weirdest sixteen-year-old I've ever met."

"'It's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring,'" I quote, walking back over to the couch and taking a seat beside him.

"But you aren't ridiculous, either," he says, smiling at me.

"Well, do you think I'm boring?" I inquire, looking up at him curiously.

The movie starts, black and white flashing on the screen.

But Edward isn't looking at it.

He's looking at me.

Really, really looking, and my heart is absolutely thundering.

Then he grins again, but it's different. It's shifted. He says, "No, I think you're anything but that."

The corners of my mouth curl up just barely and then I look away from him, to the movie. But I worm my way closer until I'm almost touching his side, and his arm is going behind me, resting on the back of the couch to accommodate. Because he's such a gentleman, of course.

I can feel his gaze as much as I can feel my heart hammering in my chest, but I remain leading lady calm as he stares. And then he finally looks away, to the screen.

And by the end of the night, I have my head resting on his arm.

* * *

**Questions, comments, and concerns are always welcome (; Much love to all you beautiful darlings! oxoxox**


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you FicSisters for mentioning my story on your website! Thank you VampiresHaveLaws for fixing all my ugly mistakes! And thank you to all the beautiful people that read this. I love you guys dearly. **

**Edward's point of view will also be featured in this chapter, so don't let it startle you. (;**

**"I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it." -Audrey**

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

The next few weeks pass by in nights filled with swimming and black-and-white movies. In innocent touches and gentle flirtations. In glamorous style and batted eyelashes. In soft-spoken words and quiet laughs.

In secrecy.

I never mention my time with Edward after hours, and neither does he. And things unsaid become secrets shared.

So the nights become our secret, even as innocent as they are.

But once something becomes a secret, is it ever truly innocent?

* * *

"This is perfection," Rose says as she lounges beside me, poolside.

We both sunbathe with our big, floppy hats and our oversized glasses and our high waisted bikinis. We sit by the pool with our Coca-Colas and our summertime glow and our glamorous dream.

"Mmhmm," I hum in response, my eyes shut against golden-hot sunlight.

"I'm so glad my mother let me come. Especially after the golf caddy incident."

"Do I even want to know?" I drawl, sitting up to sip soda from a glass bottle.

Rose laughs delightedly, the way she always does when she's done something immoral. "I was caught with him in a compromising position—in the pool house."

"And by _him_, you mean the caddy?"

"His name is Emmett," she affirms. "And he was my father's caddy."

"Was?"

"Was."

"Poor Emmett," I sigh, shaking my head.

"Don't worry about him. He got a very nice paycheck before he was forbidden from ever seeing me again. But we still sneak out together sometimes. He's funny. I like him."

"You like every boy," I say.

"What's not to like about boys?"

I roll my eyes. "Immaturity?"

"That's what makes them fun." Rose kicks my leg playfully. "Hey, do you want to go clubbing with me tomorrow night? There's a place I went to last summer, and it's only an hour away. It's in the city."

"I don't 'club,'" I scoff, resituating my hat.

"Don't be so boring, B. I thought you said you were going to branch out this summer—go wild, have fun?" Rose reaches over and tilts my sunglasses up off my eyes so she can look at me. "Please?"

I stare at her for one unblinking moment, my mind working. My idea of fun hardly hinges upon strobe lights and mindless music and grinding. But I have been dreadfully bored these last few nights, as Edward's been staying in his office all hours, working up to the finale of his biggest case to date.

The newspapers say he's going to win it.

It doesn't surprise me.

"Fine," I tell Rose and swat her hand away so my glasses drop back into place. "I'll go if you absolutely insist."

"Don't sound so excited." She laughs.

And then we lapse back into beautiful silence, enjoying nothing but the sun and freedom of summertime.

But nothing lasts forever, and soon I hear the French doors opening.

"Bella?"

I _almost_ sit up and get excited. But instead, I remain lounged back in my chair and merely glance over to Edward as he drifts outside.

He's perfection in a cream colored linen suit. His undershirt is light green, matching his eyes just so, making them shimmer. And his hair is a beautiful mess in the slightly warm, summer wind.

"I'm right here," I tell him, and he looks over.

He _really_ looks—at me, and most definitely at my black high-waisted bikini. But then he notices Rose, and then he's all gentleman again. "Hey," he says, walking over, his hands in his pockets, casual-cool.

"Edward," I drawl. "This is Rosalie Hale. Rose, this is Edward Cullen."

"It's such a pleasure, Mr. Cullen," Rose remarks, not bothering to move or smile or shake hands. But she does tilt her glasses above her eyes to get a better look. "I've heard so very much about you."

"Likewise. I think just about everyone has heard about you," Edward says, offering a polite smile.

"The tabloids _lie_," Rose says dramatically, dropping her glasses back down.

Edward smirks and looks over at me. "Where's your mom?"

"She's at the museum," I say. I sit up slowly, stretching my arms delicately to the sky before resting them on top of my drawn-up knees. I regard Edward calmly. "Didn't you call before you came over?"

"I couldn't get an answer," he replies, shrugging. Then he sighs, checks his watch. "And I don't have time to run over to the museum. Just tell her I'm at the office if you talk to her, okay?"

I let my lips curve upward as I recline back onto the pool chair once more. "She'd be much more likely to call you than me, Edward."

"Oh, yes," Rose pipes up, rubbing bronzer into her already golden legs. "Our parents are terribly self-involved, Mr. Cullen, if you hadn't already noticed. I think it's what causes mine and Bella's behavioral problems, not to mention our _multiple_ mental issues." She looks over at me. "That's why I'm not going to have children. I already know I love myself more than anyone else."

"A wonderful idea, Rose." I glance back at Edward who's smiling slightly, but has troubled eyes. He most likely wants to save us or help us or do whatever it is gentlemanly, ambitious, law-abiding men do. But that's impossible, obviously.

So I simply smile and take off my glasses. "Why don't you join us for the afternoon, Mr. Cullen? Rose and I are excellent company."

"The best of the best," Rose seconds.

Edward's crooked smile returns, but he shakes his head and looks away from me, his focus landing on the pool. "I don't doubt it, but I need to get back to the office."

"Fine." I sigh tiredly and put my glasses back on. I shut my eyes and add, softly, sweetly, all sugar, "But remember, the offer still stands. Maybe when you aren't quite so busy."

"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," he says and I just _know_ he rolls his eyes. Then he tells us goodbye, and we return the pleasantry dully.

Once he's gone, Rose kicks my leg again. "You were right. He is fucking hot."

"Mmhmm."

"Did I sense a bit of tension between the two of you—tension of the _sexual_ nature?" Rose inquires playfully, pulling out the syllables in her utterly Southern, utterly _rich_ way.

I just laugh. "Don't be ridiculous, Rosie."

* * *

"You're gonna get laid tonight," Rose announces, smacking my ass.

I jump and glare at her reflection in the mirror. "I don't like this dress."

"Well, you didn't like any of the eighteen other ones I had, either. This is the most conservative one. You're lucky you're curvy or else it'd just look stupid," Rose says, using my curling iron on her blonde waves of hair.

Tonight, she's all tight and revealing clothing, smokey eyes, messy hair, and her trademark sleazy glamour.

And I'm a two-piece, deep red bodycon dress she practically forced me into.

It's pretty but it isn't _glamorous_. It isn't Old Hollywood. It isn't Grace Kelly. It isn't even Marilyn. And therefore, it isn't me.

But Rose says I have to wear something bold to a club.

I sigh and put my red lipstick on, letting it comfort me with its familiarity. I touch up my side-swept hair, making sure each strand lays just right. I make sure my makeup is flawless. Because if I have to wear this dress, at least every other part of me is going to scream class and old school elegance.

Rose finishes up with her hair and spins towards me in a dance of sequins and glitter. She says, "Your mom thinks we're going to the mall, right?"

"Right," I say.

"And Carmen's gone?"

"It's seven, so she should be."

Rose beams, all devious rich girl. She says, "Then let's go."

I just sigh. "Okay."

* * *

**EDWARD**

It's two in the morning and my goddamn phone won't stop ringing.

I groan into my pillows and grope blindly for it, knowing it's going to be Tanya, knowing it's going to be bad news about the case: one of our witnesses has disappeared, one of the jurors is compromised, _something_.

But when I see the number, it isn't familiar.

Sighing, I roll over and hit answer. "Hello?"

"Edward?"

I freeze mid-stretch. And then I'm rolling out of bed, already fumbling for my clothes. "What's wrong?"

Bella sighs irritably on the other end of the line. "Nothing's wrong except my inability to say no to Rose. This is my own fault, really. I shouldn't have ever agreed to—"

My phone clatters to the floor as I'm trying to pull up my pants. "Shit," I mumble, reaching for it, praying I haven't cracked another screen, but it's fine. When I put it back to my ear, Bella is still ranting in her soft, raspy voice.

"…completely stupid," she says. "Can you imagine me clubbing? I should have known from the beginning I wouldn't enjoy it. I never should have said yes."

I pause as I'm trying to buckle my belt. "You went clubbing?"

Bella is quiet for a moment. And then, grudgingly, she says, "Yes."

I don't laugh. Not yet. Not until I'm sure she isn't bleeding or in imminent danger. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Edward, really. I only want to leave, but Rose is too busy making out with a boy named Rat or something. And I'm stranded in a shady part of the city and it's going to start raining soon."

So I laugh now.

"Shut up," she sniffs. "Just come pick me up, if you aren't too busy. And preferably before it starts to downpour. I don't want my hair to get ruined."

"I wouldn't want that, either."

"Smart ass," she says. Then she rattles off an address and adds, "I'm across the street from the scary homeless man digging through trash cans. If I'm not here when you arrive, know that you've failed me, and I'm most likely dead."

I roll my eyes. "I'll hurry."

* * *

It starts raining before I get there, and I almost start laughing again.

But when I arrive at the place Bella instructed, she isn't there.

And she's right. It is a shadier part of the city.

I park my car in the near-dead street, and immediately jump out into the rain. I run down the nearest alley, but she isn't there, either.

I start to panic, just a little bit.

I pull my phone out and dial. She picks up on the sixth ring. "Where the hell are you?" I snap.

"I had to take refuge in Mr. Cabrera's store."

"Who?"

"It's the little convenience store down the block. It's lit up nice and bright. You can't miss it."

"Why didn't you wait?" I ask irritably.

"It's raining, Edward. Obviously I couldn't stand there all night." She huffs and then hangs up on me.

* * *

The store is lit up nice and bright, and when I walk inside, Bella is sitting at the counter with a Hispanic man, playing cards.

She's drenched like I am but still manages to look uppity, her and her daintily crossed legs and her perfectly straight back and the slow circle of her ankle as she debates on what card to put down.

I sigh tiredly and drift over. "I thought the scary homeless man digging through trash cans had gotten you."

Bella doesn't look up from her cards, but she offers a small smile. She looks so much older when she does that. "His name was Randy, and he was a sweetheart. He's the one who directed me to Mr. Cabrera so I wouldn't catch a cold in the rain."

I roll my eyes and nod my head, wiping at my mouth and the rainwater that's gathered there. "How nice of Randy."

"I know. Edward, meet Mr. Cabrera. Mr. Cabrera, meet Mr. Cullen." Bella points between me and the older, heavyset man behind the counter.

Mr. Cabrera smiles warmly. "Nice to meet you." Then he tilts his chin at Bella, grinning hugely. "Your little sister is a very good card player. If we were playing for money, she'd have wiped me out."

I open my mouth to correct him, but Bella is hopping off the barstool, grabbing my arm, smiling sweetly and saying, "Thank you, Mr. Cabrera. And thank you for letting me stay here until my brother could come get me." She looks up at me then with her big, brown, innocent eyes. "Can we go now?"

I look between her and the smiling Mr. Cabrera and then sigh. "Yeah, sure. Thank you for watching her," I tell the man.

He nods. "Of course!"

And then we leave, Bella still hanging on my arm. She's so close I can smell her. She always smells like strawberries, which isn't something I think I should note.

When we're outside, I pull away.

Bella hardly seems to notice as she looks out at the rainy street and sighs. "I suppose I'll have to get soaked again."

I shrug out of my suit jacket and hand it over to her. "It won't be much since it's already wet, but it might help a little."

I almost expect her to turn me down out of politeness, but Bella always does the unexpected, the most mysterious things. She takes the jacket calmly and smiles at me sweetly. But her eyes, as always, are dark and dangerous. "Thank you," she says.

I just look away.

* * *

Once we're in the car, we're both freshly drenched.

Bella is frowning, wringing out her hair, sighing.

I was trying not to notice what she was wearing before, but I notice now. I can't really help it.

It's red and tight—even before it was soaked—and now, it's just a thin second skin. I can see her every curve under the golden streetlamp light that shines in through the rain-streaked windshield.

I look away as I start the car.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"No." Bella huffs. "I'm wet, my hair's a mess, my clothes are wrinkled, and I have dirt on my feet. I'm very much _not_ okay." She shifts around, and I glance over again as she's leaning down to pull off her high heels. She tosses her wavy-wet hair over her shoulder as she does so, and I can see her better. I could look down her shirt if I wanted to, but I don't, of course. I feel like a pervert for even thinking about it.

I look away again, this time more firmly. I put the car in drive and roll my eyes at myself. I'm not in fucking high school anymore.

"I'm sorry I had to call you this late," Bella sighs. "But Renee didn't know about our plans."

"Your and Rose's plans?" I confirm as I start driving.

"Yes," she says. "Rose said this would be fun. I knew better, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt."

I grin a little. "Something you came to regret, huh?"

"Almost immediately. I tried to stick it out, but sleeping with boys named Rat and Brick isn't exactly on my priority list. That's where I draw the line."

My eyes flicker over to her again, and she's leaned back in the seat now, looking out the window. "That's probably a good thing."

"Well, I have high standards," Bella remarks.

I smirk. "I can only imagine."

I feel her glance over at me, but I keep my eyes on the road. I've quickly found it's best _not_ to look at Bella.

And then I ask, without thinking, which isn't like me really, "Why'd you call me?"

"What do you mean? I needed a ride. There were no cabs around."

"I mean, why'd you call _me_? Not Carmen or someone else?"

"Carmen lives an hour outside of the city. I figured you'd be in the city. And besides you two, there isn't anyone else I can call."

As always, a statement that might seem vulnerable comes out sounding dry and bored in Bella's sweet-soft voice. And if it were her mother, I might think she was trying to garner some sympathy. But since it's Bella, I'm not sure why she says it. I'm not sure why she says most things—which I suspect is the way she likes it.

I rub tiredly at my face as we drive through rainy-dark streets. "You trust me not to tell your mom about your clubbing adventure?"

I hear her soft sigh. "Well, I suppose I think because you're not that old you remember what it's like to be young and stupid. But on the other hand, you did mention to Renee what I told you about my father."

My eyes snap over to her briefly. "How'd you know that?"

She won't look at me. Instead, she stares out the window, hiding her face. She remains stubbornly silent, and I know she won't answer so I give up hope.

I sigh. "I just told her about that because we happened to be talking about you and your father, anyway."

"You're curious, aren't you?" she asks, and now she does look over at me. She pins me with carefully angry eyes and a calm face. "You're just dying to know what happened. I guess I can't really blame you. But then again, it's none of your business."

My eyebrows arch at the uncharacteristic statement, and my gaze flickers back and forth between her and the road. "Your mother just told me a little about it, Bella."

"She told you a bunch of lies, I'm sure," Bella says offhandedly, looking back out the window. "That's what she does."

There's a pause, and the only sound is the rain pounding against the car and the dull thrum of the tires rolling over pavement.

Finally, I ask, "It's what you do, too, isn't it?"

Bella remains stonily silent.

"In the store, you let Mr. Cabrera think I was your brother. Why? Why would that even matter?" I ask her. "Why would you bother lying about that?"

Bella fiddles with the hem of her dress. It's the first time I've ever seen her show a sign of discomfort.

So I press further. "You like to lie like Renee, don't you?"

"I don't like to lie," she snaps suddenly and looks over at me, a frown marring her perfect face. But then it's gone, and so is the fire, and so is the raised voice. She's untouchable once more and her voice is whisper-soft as she adds, "It just happens sometimes." Then she turns away from me, and I know she won't speak again.

So I stay quiet, too.

And then we're back at her house, and I'm pulling up to the driveway. The rain has stopped, but Bella still pauses before opening the door.

Then she looks over at me in the darkness of the car and her pale face is almost glowing. She says without an ounce of hostility, "You don't know anything, Edward. You think you do, but you don't."

"Then why don't you set me straight?"

She just shakes her head and climbs out of the car. She leans down to look at me. "Thank you for bringing me home. Goodnight." And then she's gone, silent and shadowy.

And I wonder if this whole night wasn't a dream.

* * *

**Let me know what you think. (; oxoxoxox**


	12. Chapter 12

**"Too many years fighting back tears/ Why can't the past just die?" -from _The Phantom of the Opera_**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

"No movie tonight, huh?" he asks, grinning over at me and my cherry red, retro-glam one-piece.

I drift towards the French doors and give him a beckoning smile. "I thought we'd change it up this evening," I say and then head outside to the patio, leaving him to follow.

Which he does, only a few moments later.

I'm already by the pool's edge, dipping my toes in, confirming the icy temperature of the glowing, blue water.

Edward takes his usual seat and digs out a pack of cigarettes.

I inhale hot summer air deeply into my lungs and close my eyes, stretching my arms languidly towards the star cluttered sky. "Still trying to quit, hmm?"

He exhales a quiet laugh. "I'll start tomorrow."

"That philosophy always works for me." I open my eyes and glance in his direction, giving the smallest of smiles. "Aren't you ever going to swim with me?"

His eyes dance playfully as he blows out a steady stream of smoke into the night air. And then he's shaking his head and looking away, rubbing at his jaw.

I sigh loudly. "Fine. Be completely boring, if you want." Then I jump into the pool, the shock of the cold jolting me and making me feel absolutely, unequivocally awake.

It's beautiful for the two short seconds it lasts.

And then I have to come up for air, and the spell is broken.

Edward says, "About the other night."

"What do you mean?" I inquire innocently, leaning back to float over the surface of the water. My vision is filled with endless starry night, and the warm air over my damp body makes me feel cold.

"You know what I mean," Edward replies.

I sigh and close my eyes. "There isn't anything to talk about."

"I disagree."

"I was a little tipsy, Edward, if you must know. I was just blurting out nonsense. I do that occasionally, as hard to believe as it." I dip into the water again, swimming to the pool's very bottom and staying there as long as I can before floating back up and facing Edward's questions once more.

"I didn't smell alcohol on you," Edward says as soon as I've hit the surface.

I push my hair back delicately and look over at him. "Vodka."

He rolls his eyes. "It's a myth that vodka doesn't have a smell."

"And you'd know through experience," I murmur, swimming over to the edge closest to him.

"Well, I _am_ the one who's over twenty-one."

"And you think because I'm not, that that stops me from partaking?" I ask, arching my brows at him with a playful smile.

He smirks back, leaning down towards me, his elbows resting on his knees, his cigarette dangling between careless fingers. "I don't think anything can stop you if you want something bad enough."

"I guess we're alike that way, huh?"

Edward's smirk turns into a grin as he leans back and shakes his head. "I know you weren't drunk, Bella. Don't change the subject."

"But I don't like the current subject, Edward." I pout—just a little, just for effect. "Let's talk about something more entertaining."

"Such as what you meant when you said I didn't know anything?" he presses, taking a drag from his cigarette.

I roll my eyes. "No. I'm done talking about that dreadful night. Did I tell you Rose tried to call and apologize for setting me up with a boy named Brick? It's like she doesn't know me at all."

Edward sighs, perhaps coming to terms with my refusal to give him answers. Or maybe he's just waiting for another time. "Did you forgive her?"

"I said I'd only forgive her if she bought me this dress I've been wanting."

"And did she?" he asks, flicking ash into a soda can.

"I'll be wearing it to _The Phantom of the Opera_ Friday evening," I tell him with a satisfied nod. Then I give a small, only _barely_ devious smile and add, "I could model it for you tonight, though. It's very lovely."

Edward's grin is tired and beautiful. He rubs out the cigarette's light on the concrete, shaking his head. "I'll wait until Friday."

I sigh and pretend to be put out with him.

* * *

"'Think of me, think of me fondly,'" Renee and I sing, spinning around together in our living room.

Carmen laughs at us as she finishes dusting.

Renee dips me and says, "Go get ready, sweetie. Edward will be here in an hour."

"You'll be late, then. Isabel takes longer than that," Carmen says, grinning over at me.

I stick my tongue out. "Looking fabulous doesn't happen quickly, Carmen."

* * *

"What do you think?" I ask, striking a pose for my mother.

Renee eyes my floor length cream and white lace dress slowly, checking for any defects. The sleeves are long, and the fabric hugs my curves all the way down to my ankles, where it bells out ever so slightly. The lace shimmers when I walk, and it's all old school class and subtle femininity. I love it.

And so does Renee. "It's beautiful, darling."

I smile and drift over to her as she leans back towards the mirror, putting the finishing touches to her makeup.

It's rare that my mother does much with her makeup. She's beautiful enough to go without it. So tonight, when she's taken the time to make her eyes smoky and dark, when she's taken the time to cover up her light freckles—she looks like a million dollars.

I'm equally proud and envious of her.

"I love your dress," I tell her, touching the silky electric blue fabric that hangs off her stick-slim frame.

"Thank you, sweetie," she says, smiling at me in the mirror. It's one of her real smiles, the one that melts her eyes and makes her glow.

It makes me glow, too.

"It was so nice that the Cullens got us tickets," I murmur, checking my side-swept hair in the mirror.

"They're very generous people." Renee pulls out a tube of nude lipstick and applies some. "But I am a little nervous about going with them."

"Why?" I play with tendrils of my mother's loosely curled hair.

"I don't know." Renee caps the lipstick and shrugs. "It just feels like a test or something."

I come to stand behind her, gently pulling the sides of her hair up and to the back, gathering it there. I fiddle with it some until it's modern sixties chic, and then I clip it. "What do you think?"

Renee smiles at our reflection. "I think it's just what the outfit needed."

I smile and hug her tightly from behind, catching her eyes with mine in the mirror. "Don't be worried. They already love you. Everyone loves you."

Mom squeezes my hand gratefully.

* * *

"Renee will be down momentarily, Edward," I say as soon as I see him.

He stands in our living room wearing a tuxedo, looking old Hollywood dapper. His hair is pushed back tonight, too, making him all class and perfection. He's the closest to an old movie star I've ever seen in real life.

"Okay," he replies.

"How do you like my dress? I think it looks even better since Rose's money bought it," I remark, drifting over to grab my clutch off the couch.

Edward smiles. "It's nice."

"Nice," I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Why don't you just call me fat, instead?"

He arches his brows, his mouth twisting into a smirk. "You're fishing for a better compliment."

"So what if I am? Maybe I deserve something better than _nice_," I sniff. "That's the most dull compliment you could pay me."

"It's _very_ nice. Is that more to your liking?"

"No. But I've accepted the fact that you're hopeless, so I'll move on," I tell him, winking as I walk past, into the kitchen.

Edward's laugh follows me. And then he follows me himself a moment later. He leans against the kitchen doorframe and watches me as I pour myself some water and take a sip.

"What's taking your mom so long?" he asks, checking his watch.

"Don't rush perfection, Edward."

He rolls his eyes and pushes off the doorframe lazily. "Oh, no. I wouldn't want to do that."

I smirk and dump the rest of my water down the sink and we wait for my mother.

* * *

_The Phantom of the Opera_ is mine and Renee's favorite play.

And as it turns out, Esme and Carlisle love it just as much.

We all sit together in the balcony, closer to the stage than I've ever been before. I happen to get seated by Edward. Renee is on the other side of him, holding his hand.

I try not to look.

Once the play starts, it becomes easy enough to forget about it—to forget about everything, which is the main attraction of the performance.

My goose bumps are never-ending, as always. Some of the notes the actors hit are so pure that I hear Esme sniffling along with Renee.

It's actually a near perfect evening until Renee's phone lights up and she asks to be excused.

I sigh quietly when she's gone.

Edward seems to hear it even over the rising music. He glances over at me. But I just keep looking at the stage.

* * *

The graveyard scene unfolds before us.

The actress playing Christine sings with such delicate power, with such heartache and longing. Her voice swells and fills the whole theatre, raising goose bumps and drawing out tears from the audience.

I sit stoically, quietly, and I think of other things.

But my hands tremble ever so slightly when I smooth out my dress. And when I see the small twitch of my fingers, I can't stand it. I usually have better control of myself, and I'm filled with sudden fury at my inability tonight.

I'm standing before I realize it.

Christine's passionate pleas for the past to die ring in my ears and reverberate through my body as I start for the exit.

Esme asks me something with concern on her face. I think she catches my hand with hers. I realize my skin is cold and clammy the instant her warm, gentle fingers touch me.

I give her a perfect lie in response, but my face doesn't sell it. I know because I see the doubt in her eyes as she nods her head and releases me.

And then I'm in the tall, rich hallways of the theatre house, with my heels sinking softly into luxurious carpet.

I'm almost running.

But I tell myself to slow down, to calm down. And finally, I do.

"Bella!"

I jerk to a halt, swiping at my eyes just in case, but there are no tears—_those_ I still have control over.

Edward jogs up to me, concern etched over every inch of his face. His hair is starting to grow messy again, strands falling into his eyes, and I decide I like him better this way. It makes him look younger.

"I'm fine, Edward, really," I hear myself say airily. But I turn away from him and start walking to hide my face. "I'm okay."

"I know," he replies, and he's walking with me, keeping up.

"Then why'd you come after me?"

"It didn't seem right to let you run off upset," he says.

I let out a tired little laugh and touch at my hair, making sure it's still in place. "Always the gentleman."

His voice is quiet when he answers with, "Well, I try to be."

I stop again and turn to look up to him. "You should go back. You're missing it."

He shrugs carelessly, his hands in his pockets. "I've seen it before."

I know I won't get rid of him now. And I can't help but like the idea. I can't help but glow a little. Looping my arm with his, I say, "Well, in that case, perhaps you'll buy me something from the booth downstairs."

He grins at me, his green eyes winking with light. "All right."

* * *

"Thank you," I say, holding my felt rose close.

We sit outside the magnificent theatre in the rapidly cooling night. There's a sleek waterfall behind us, spraying cold droplets and drowning out city sounds with the rush of calming water.

Edward's slouched over, forearms on his knees as he smokes. When he glances over at me, his hair hangs in front of his eyes. "You're welcome."

"Did you see the rose has lyrics on the ribbon?" I lean over and show him.

"Oh, yeah." He reaches out to inspect it closer. "That's cool." Then he blows out a final cloud of smoke and snuffs out the cigarette with his shoe. "We should probably get back. Renee might wonder where—"

"Oh, she's not back yet," I scoff, touching the rose's velvety petals. "She won't be back until the end of the show, most likely."

"How do you know that?"

I give him a look. "She's done this enough for me to know."

Edward grows quiet and withdrawn as he looks away from me, out into the sparkling city and its sky-reaching buildings. He opens his mouth once but never speaks: he only shakes his head and frowns.

"You want to know something," I accuse.

At this, he cracks the smallest of smiles before turning his face towards me. "I want to know a lot of things when it comes to you."

"Well, it can't hurt to ask, can it?" I arch a brow at him playfully.

But he's frowning again, thinking up the best way to phrase his next sentence. "You seem to be close to your mother, but…"

"Why do I seem so hostile towards her?" I finish for him. Then I smile tiredly and sigh. "I love her. She's my mother." I shrug and look down at my rose, playing with the petals again. "She's the only mother I have, and she doesn't beat me. She doesn't verbally abuse me. The only thing she's guilty of is sometimes forgetting about me, but I'd guess most parents in America do that one time or another."

Edward's frown deepens, and his eyes see too much.

"There are certain decisions I don't agree with, but that's fairly typical, too, I'd assume," I go on. "Some days I understand her, and other days, I don't—so I alternate between being accepting and being ungrateful, like every other teenager on the face of the planet." I roll my eyes to make light of it all.

But Edward isn't fooled. "Why don't you call your father?" he asks, point-blank.

It throws me, unsteadies me, but I give him a cool, standard answer. "I can't."

"Why not?" he pushes.

I blow out an irritable sigh. "Do you want to know because of your own curiosity or because of my well being?"

"Why can't it be both?"

My irritation drains as quickly as it came, and I'm left feeling tired and dull. I hate feeling dull. I am _not_ dull. Not usually, anyway. I simply say, "I can't call him, Edward." I stand up and smooth out my dress. "Please don't ask me why again."

Following my lead, he stands up, too. He sees me wrapping my arms around myself, and he mistakes it for me being cold, so gives me his jacket. I let him believe the lie.

He says, "Okay."

I drape the jacket over my shoulders and drown in the scent and heat of him.

* * *

**I think I've missed a few questions people have asked. If I haven't answered a question of yours already, ask it again. I'll gladly answer! (;**


	13. Chapter 13

**"I always felt insecure and in the way – but most of all I felt scared. I guess I wanted love more than anything else in the world." -Marilyn**

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

I wear a white sleeveless dress that's simple-chic, sixties allure. I wear it for our girls' day in the city.

Renee means to apologize for all the time she's been away with one full day of buying pity-clothes and pity-manicures. She is bright-optimism and sunny-happiness and staying away from all sad topics.

She wants my forgiveness, but I'm not angry.

It's kind of ironic that way.

* * *

At noon, Edward calls Renee. She offers to bring him lunch—if it's okay with me. Which it most certainly is. So we take a cab farther downtown to the swanky building he works in.

He has his own office.

Renee and I have to take an elevator up to the twenty-sixth floor, sign in, and talk to a secretary to verify our identity to even get close to him.

But finally, he's opening the door and letting us inside.

The room is what I expected. It's Jack McCoy's office from _Law & Order_. It's bookshelves and books. It's clutter and papers. It's paneled walls and an iffy view. It's all lawyer, all him.

"Thank you for bringing this," Edward says, taking the bag of takeout Renee brought. He's rumpled today, wearing a wrinkled button-down with pushed up sleeves. His hair is a mess, and there are sleepless circles beneath his eyes.

"Of course," Renee says, glancing around the chaotic room with only a slight look of apprehension. "Have you been sleeping _any_, Edward?"

"I can sleep when this case is won," is his simple reply. He takes a seat at his desk and rummages around in the takeout bag.

Renee sighs and sets her purse down. "I shouldn't even bother giving you advice. You're too stubborn to take it."

He looks up and gives her a grin that squints his eyes and makes me crazy.

But Renee seems hardly impressed. "I'll be back in a minute. I have to go to the ladies' room," she says, which is a lie, of course. I know she's obsessing over the museum. I know as soon as she's out of the office and out of my earshot, she'll call her assistant to make sure there hasn't been a fire or some sort of other catastrophe that only she could prevent.

Once the door is shut behind her, though, I don't care.

I take a seat across from Edward, on the other side of his desk. I cross my legs and smooth out my dress primly. "Your office is a disaster."

Edward grins down at the ravioli he's stirring. "Yeah? I'll tell the cleaning lady to shape up."

"It's not the cleaning lady's fault. It's the inhabitant," I reply.

"I'm sorry if I don't have time to pick up after myself when I'm engaged in the pursuit of justice."

I roll my eyes and smile.

And then he looks up at me from beneath his lashes, a smirk dancing briefly over his lips. "No comeback?"

"You've stumped me this time," I say. "Revel in your victory while it lasts."

"Oh, I plan to." He stuffs his mouth full of food and peruses the notes he has sprawled out over his desk. He chews and swallows, and then sighs. "I have to win this case, Bella."

"Then win," I say, shrugging.

Edward's grin breaks across his face before he even looks up at me. "I wish it were that simple."

"I have faith in you," I assure, nodding.

"You're one of the only ones." He runs his hands through his hair, leaving behind beautiful chaos in the strands. His eyes roam over all the open books and filled-up legal pads on the desk. "We're getting destroyed right now. And closing arguments are in a week."

"That's a whole week you can use to turn it around."

Edward raises his arms and rests his hands on top of his head. He leans back in his chair and regards me with a smirk. "Who would've guessed you'd be so optimistic?"

"I'm usually jaded and cynical. But I thought I'd try to help," I say. "Did I?"

"Not really."

"At least you're honest."

"Unlike you, right?" He arches his brows playfully.

I pretend to be offended and give him an accusing look. "I thought we weren't going to talk about that anymore."

"We aren't." He shifts forward and puts his forearms on the desk, and his face softens. "I'm just messing with you."

"I know," I say and surprise myself by smiling.

"Edward?"

We both turn at the new voice, and I see a tall, curvy blonde wearing a perfectly tailored suit as she comes to stand in the office.

"Brace yourself," she says and clacks across the floor in her heels. She drops a folder at Edward's desk and puts her hands on her hips. "Our witness has a bit of a credibility issue."

Edward opens the folder and his eyes skim over the papers. "Fuck," he groans only a moment later.

"My sentiments exactly," the blonde says.

"How did we not catch this?" Edward demands, glancing up at her.

She shrugs. "It wasn't me."

"I wasn't blaming you."

"I could see the accusation in your eyes," she replies crisply. "But it wasn't me. I don't know who, but it doesn't matter now, anyway. What do you want to do?"

Edward scrubs at his face viciously and leans back in his chair. He rests his hands on his head again, and his eyes go distant as he thinks it through. It only takes him a few seconds before he stands up and snaps the folder shut. "There's nothing we can do about it now."

The blonde's eyebrows rise coolly. "So…"

"So we do nothing." Edward hands her the folder back.

"He'll get destroyed on cross."

"It's not my problem."

"It kind of is."

"Look, we've got eight other witnesses. His testimony isn't what our case hinges upon."

"But he's going to get torn apart. Shouldn't we at least warn him?" the blonde inquires, not sounding curious in the least. "His wife will be there in the courtroom."

"He shouldn't have cheated on her. It's not my concern if he's in the doghouse for the next twenty years. I don't really care about the state of his marriage at this point." Edward rubs at the back of his neck. "Did you get those cases I asked you about?"

"I'm working on it," the blonde sighs and then click-clacks back out of the room. She slams the door behind her.

Edward sits on the edge of his desk and shakes his head. "That was Tanya, by the way."

"Who's she?"

"She sits in the second chair," he says, as if I know what that means.

Then I say, just for fun, "I think maybe I'll be a lawyer."

Edward perks up a little and glances over at me, eyebrows raised, a smirk on his lips. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I think you'd be good at it." He shoves off his desk and walks back to his seat. "You could be a defense lawyer."

"Why defense?"

"Because you're good at bullshitting. Scary good, actually."

"And you aren't?" I challenge with a sniff.

His smile is playful and his eyes are dark as he looks at me. But all he replies with is, "I never said that."

* * *

"How does it feel to win one of the biggest cases of the year?" one reporter asks, shoving the microphone closer to his face.

Edward stands on the courthouse steps, his hair ruffled by wind. His eyes are bright, and his smile is eternal and devastating. "It feels good. Putting a murderer behind bars always feels good."

"But this has to help your career," another journalist huddled around him says.

Edward shrugs gracefully. "Every win helps my career. It's not really the issue."

"You're the youngest ADA in New York's history. A lot of people didn't think you could win a case where the defense was at such a high caliber. What do you say to that?"

I can see Edward wants to roll his eyes, but he doesn't—out of respect because he's all class.

"I'd say, obviously, age doesn't matter that much. The defendant was guilty. We knew it, and we made sure he paid for his crimes. That's all I'm going to say. Thank you." He pushes out of the circle, and the vultures descend next on the dull-faced Tanya.

It's when I decide to turn the TV off.

* * *

"Congratulations," I say as I sashay down the steps into the half-lit living room.

Edward is on the couch, as usual, with a few law books scattered around him. He looks up and grins at me, his hair falling in his eyes. "Thanks."

"What are you doing? Aren't you going to take a break?" I ask as I walk over.

"I have other cases, too. This job rarely affords a break," he replies.

I sit down next to him on the couch, legs tucked under my bottom, facing him primly. "Doesn't that get maddening after a while?"

"No." Edward shrugs. "I can't have a job where I'm not always busy. I can't have downtime. I have to be doing _something_."

"So you're insane then," I say as I nod seriously.

Edward raises a book at me, pretending to smack me with it. And then he smiles and shakes his head. "It's just the way I've always been."

"I bet you were the kid who was in every club and every committee and every sports team, weren't you?" I inquire, scooting a little closer to him.

He lets me without pulling away. "No. I hated school, actually. I wanted to spend as little time there as possible. I played basketball because my parents told me I had to, and I liked it when I was little, anyway."

I cock my head. "Your parents made you play?"

He looks a bit apprehensive all of a sudden, as if he's let something slip that he didn't mean to. Clearing his throat, he looks away from me, to his books, and rubs the back of his neck. "I got into trouble a few times when I was in prep school. Nothing serious. Just bullshit teenager stuff, you know? But Carlisle and Esme told me I needed an outlet. So basketball it was. It worked out because I always liked competing in stuff. I got that from my dad, I guess."

"From Carlisle?" I ask, confusion starting to cloud my mind.

"No. My real dad," Edward replies without hesitation. "Carlisle and Esme are my adoptive parents."

"Oh," I say, surprised despite myself.

He smiles over at me easily. "You didn't already know that?"

I shake my head, and then quietly, I ask, "What happened to your real parents? If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind. They died in a car wreck—drunk driver. I was seven." Edward pulls at the already loose tie around his neck until it comes undone. He takes it off. "I don't remember too much of it."

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and I mean it. I really do. I can feel the weight of sincerity in my chest as I say the words, and it's nice to feel genuine.

Edward shakes his head and gives another smile. "It's okay. It's not your fault." He shuts the law book on his lap and drops it on the coffee table. "I take it by your lack of swim attire that we're gonna watch a movie tonight."

I don't mind the subject change. I just smile. "How does _Gone With the Wind_ sound?"

"Too long."

I stick my tongue out at him and say, "Too bad."

* * *

Edward falls asleep during the movie.

With a little patience, I get him stretched out in a halfway comfortable position on the couch. I put a throw pillow behind his head and drape a blanket over him, watching my fingers slowly brush back his hair out of his eyes.

He never stirs.

The lines of tiredness and tension on his face melt away until he looks only young and peaceful. His breathing is slow and steady, and I know he's sleeping better than he has in weeks and weeks.

My fingers dance upwards, twirling around strands of his hair—mostly because I just want to know what his hair feels like. It's soft and thick and warm, not silky and fine like my own.

I should go to bed—the movie's long since been over—but I feel very awake. And the thought of lying fitfully in my bed, unable to find sleep, is completely undesirable.

I am sleepless nights.

I am continuous restlessness.

I am troubled.

I am a beautiful train wreck waiting to happen.

And I am lonely, most of all.

So I lean forward and press my lips so softly and gently against Edward's. It happens so quickly that I don't think it through. And I always think things through. It's the golden rule, after all.

But his mouth is warm and soft, and his lips part beneath mine, and he sighs intoxicating breath into me. It makes me dizzy and dazzled. It hooks me. And when I pull away from him, I know I have to have this again. I know I have to have him. It's so obvious now.

Edward never wakes.

So I tiptoe away, like a secret, back up to my room. And I sleep more peacefully than I have in months.

* * *

**I had lots of questions asking about why Bella can't call Charlie. I can't answer THOSE kinds of questions, you silly birds. But if I still missed any other questions, please message me about them. **

**Also, next chapter is the last chapter before a time jump. We'll skim over Bella's junior year at school, and it'll be summer again. She'll have just turned 17 (her birthday is May 1st, for those who want to know). This will be the only time jump, though. **

**And one more thing (sorry). I know a lot of the lawyer stuff doesn't add up. ADA's don't get their own offices, I don't think. And I'm sure a lot of the legal things are screwed up. I'm not a lawyer, though. And all my lawyer knowledge comes from _Law & Order, _which most likely isn't that reputable. So please forgive any mistakes I've made. **

**Thank you, beautiful people! (;**


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you to VampiresHaveLaws and Nicffwhisperer for just being generally amazing. **

**"Oh, what can I do/ ****To turn you on or get through to you." -Lana**

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

"What's wrong, _nena_?" Carmen inquires, reaching over to tuck some of my hair behind my ear.

I glance up from my plate and arch my brows. "Nothing. Why?"

We sit poolside, at the patio table, eating our lunch. We're in the worst days of summer now, when the air is hot soup and you can hardly pull in a decent breath. But I wanted to eat outside at least once more before it was time to leave.

"You're sad," Carmen announces, folding her napkin neatly in her lap. "You don't want to leave for that school again, do you?"

I sigh and tap at my Coca-Cola glass. "No."

Carmen shakes her head and mutters something in Spanish. She takes a bite of salad and chews furiously. "I don't like that you have to go, either. The schools around here are perfectly fine."

I smile tiredly at my food. "Yes, I know. But Renee doesn't think the schools around here will get me into an Ivy League college."

Carmen sighs, but she doesn't comment further. She can't, really. Because Renee is her boss. Renee is her paycheck. Renee is the reason she can keep food on her family's table.

"I hate her sometimes," I say, the words slipping past my lips before I can stop them. Tears follow quickly, welling up in my eyes but refusing to fall, blurring my vision. My loss of control makes the tightness in my chest worse, so I look away from Carmen and her kind eyes. I look at the pool and squint against the sunlight and try to get a grip.

I don't make scenes like this.

I'm in better control than that.

I'm leading lady calm and cool.

"You don't mean that, _nena_," Carmen murmurs soothingly. She reaches across the tiny table and touches my arm.

But I pull away from her and shake my head, blinking furiously. "I do. I swear to God I do. I love her, but I hate her, too. I hate her so much."

"Isabel—"

"She doesn't want me, Carmen!" I cry, and I don't know where this is coming from. I feel the burn of bitter words rising in my chest, and I can't keep them down. "She never did. I was a mistake. She never meant to get pregnant with me."

"Isabel, you might have been a surprise, but that doesn't mean—"

I hold up my hand, and the motion is almost desperate. And the way I have to wipe my runny nose is pathetic, and in this moment, I don't just hate Renee.

I hate myself, too.

* * *

"Don't do this, Bella."

"Do what?" I ask wearily.

"Don't be upset. It's like this every year, but I don't want you to be upset," Renee urges, scooting closer to me on the couch. "I want you to go to a good college. I want you to get the best education. It isn't because I don't want you. It's because I want the _best_ for you."

"Well, I don't believe you." I sniff and stand up, needing to get away from her. "It's hard to believe anything you say, actually."

Renee looks pained, as if I've dug out her heart. And I know it's not an act. She really does hurt when I say things like this. "Bella, honey, I'm trying. This time, I'm _trying_. I'm trying to do better. Things are good, now. Things are going to be fine."

"That's what you always say."

"It's true now."

I just laugh and shake my head. I start towards the stairs.

"Bella, wait." Renee hops up and follows me. She grabs my hand and holds on so tight my fingers turn white. "I promise you. I promise you with everything I have. I just want you to succeed in life, Bella. I want you to have a great education. I want you to be able to do whatever it is you want to do. I don't want anything to ever hold you back, sweetheart."

"But wouldn't it look nice to all your friends if your kid went to Yale, too?" I ask bitterly.

Renee blinks away tears and holds my face between her cool palms. "You don't have to go to Yale."

"Then can I go to a liberal arts college? Can I major in creative writing?"

Renee's face falters.

So I pull away from her and nod. "That's what I thought."

"Creative writing isn't a good enough major. You might not get work. You might not get a high paying job—"

"So why don't you just go ahead and tell me what you want me to major in, then? Why don't you tell me that, tell me what college to go to, tell me how you want me to dress, tell me who you want me to marry? Why don't you just run my life entirely?" My voice is level but quick, and my heart is pounding a hurtful beat in my chest.

Renee sighs, looks oh-so tired. "Bella, you're so young."

My mouth opens to respond when Edward is suddenly opening the front door and walking inside, wearing an easy grin.

But he stops as soon as he sees us, and the grin is gone.

My emotions are painted all over my face, and I hate it.

"Hey," he says, slowly. "I didn't mean to interrupt—"

"Oh, don't worry, Edward," I say, and my voice is cool-calm-collected. "You were merely walking in on a horribly clichéd fight between mother and teenage daughter. Soap opera stuff." With that, I turn and walk up the steps.

I don't pause to eavesdrop on their conversation. I already know what it'll be. So I go to my room. I don't slam the door. I don't scream and cry. I don't rage and blast gloomy teenage music.

Instead, I just try to write.

But even that refuge is gone for me today.

* * *

It's an hour after the fight, and I'm packing. I have nothing better to do, and tomorrow morning I'll be leaving, getting on the train to Pennsylvania, to my own personal hell.

I want to be Holden Caulfield. I want to get myself expelled, and I want to run away, into the city.

But it's something I only think of briefly.

My more logical side remembers how Holden's story ended.

* * *

When I climb down the steps in the darkness, I don't expect to see Edward—not tonight.

But he's there, reading his books. He never looks up, but he smiles. "You're running late tonight."

"I didn't know I was on the clock," I return.

He glances up, and his eyes roam over the white bathing suit I wore the very first time I met him. His gaze doesn't linger, but it never does.

He's the same perfect gentleman he's always been.

"Swimming tonight?" he inquires.

I simply nod and give him the smallest of smiles.

* * *

"Swim with me tonight," I say over my shoulder, swaying my hips with my walk.

Edward follows me without being prompted. "We've already gone over this. I don't have swim trunks."

"And you've already heard my solution," I challenge, spinning lightly, walking backwards with a bounce in my step. "Remember?"

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I remember. Swim in my underwear, right?"

I shrug. "It seems a viable option."

"No."

I pout. "But no one ever swims with me."

He pouts back, a mockery of my own expression.

"Ass."

He staggers as if he's been wounded, grinning as he drifts over to his usual pool chair. He takes a seat and digs for his cigarettes.

"Edward, tonight's my last night," I plead, walking over to him. I love the feel of cool concrete against my bare feet. I love the feel of fading heat in summer night air. I love the blue heaven glow of the pool lights in the darkness. And I'd love more than anything for this night to be perfect.

For Edward to swim with me.

So I say, "Please." And I rarely ever say please.

Edward looks up at me, unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, his hand frozen in his pocket where he'd been reaching for the lighter. He seems to realize the gravity and sincerity of my request instantaneously.

Slowly, he removes the cigarette and says, "I don't know. It's late, Bella, and I have a shit ton of cases I need to—"

I sit on the pool chair next to his. My knees bump into his leg. "Please?"

Edward holds my gaze for only two heartbeats. And then he's sighing and looking away, straight ahead, with contemplation etched on his face. He weighs his options. I can see the wheels turning.

I'm only Renee's kid.

I'm only a little girl.

I'm only sixteen.

But his assurances can also be doubts, and reasons not to.

Finally, he nods tiredly. "All right. Fine."

* * *

He takes his shirt off lastly, and he's perfect. But I knew he would be.

He's a toned body and lean muscle.

He's smooth skin and hipbones that make a V.

He's beautiful, and he's refusing me eye contact.

I just smile and dip my mouth below the surface of the water to hide it. My eyes stay on him as he walks to the edge of pool and steps off into the deep end. He plunges out of sight for a full minute before he pops back up for air.

"Shit it's cold," he exhales, all in one breath.

I lean back until I'm floating and all I see are winking stars. "That's what makes it fun."

"How do you not get hypothermia?"

"I think you're being overdramatic."

Edward's laugh is disbelieving. "I'm not the overdramatic one."

I squeal as I feel his hand latch on to my ankle and tug. It disrupts my relaxation, and I dip down into the water briefly. Once I get my footing on the rough pool floor, I splash water at him. "I'm not overdramatic."

"A little bit," he replies, splashing me back.

I tuck wet hair behind my ears and move closer to him. The water ripples around us. And staring up into his pretty green eyes, I whisper, "Do you really think so?"

Edward's watching me too closely, with too-dark eyes, and he seems to realize it a moment too late. He tries to look away, but it's brief, and then his gaze is locked back with mine. He says, quietly, "Not really."

"No?"

"No." He pauses to wipe at his mouth, at the water gathered there. The motion seems drawn out to me. Drawn out and beautiful. "I think you don't react enough, sometimes."

"You think I should throw tantrums," I say, not questioning.

Edward shakes his head. "No. I think you should just tell people how you feel."

"That doesn't get you anything, Edward. Nobody really cares how you feel. Isn't that obvious? Besides, if I tell everyone everything, I have no secrets left."

"What's so great about secrets?"

"They keep me young," I say, batting my lashes.

"You're young enough as it is," he mutters, rolling his eyes.

I move closer to him. Close enough to see the water droplets clinging to his lashes, quivering there like tears waiting to fall. I murmur, "Do you think I'm childish, Edward?"

He shakes his head. His eyes are still trapped by mine. It's the longest he's ever looked at me. It's dizzying, dazzling, and utterly intoxicating.

"A little shallow, maybe," he admits. "But I think that's all an act, anyway."

"Yeah?" I bite my lip playfully, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. I'm so close now that I can kiss him. "You have me all figured out, huh?"

At this, he cracks a small grin. "Not even close."

"Do you think I'm immature?" I ask him sweetly.

"No, I think you're very mature. For your age," he says, his words soft and low and humming.

I drop my gaze from his and look at his collarbone, at the water hovering on his skin there. "Do you think I'm pretty?"

He's quiet for an eternity that lasts twenty seconds. I think I've pushed too hard. But then he's blurting, "I remember."

My eyes skip back up to his, my brows pulling together slightly. "Remember what?"

And in his own eyes is dawning realization and stiff confusion. "I remember that night—when we were watching _Gone With the Wind_."

My face is relaxed, poker face calm, but my heart is beating a dangerous rhythm. "You remember what? Falling asleep on the couch?"

He shakes his head, a flash of irritation dancing over his features. "I fucking _know_, Bella. Don't play dumb."

"Know what?" I scoff.

Edward's mouth opens and shuts twice before he can get the words out. And when he says them, his brows rise sharply as if he hardly believes them himself. "You kissed me."

I stay silent for only a moment. "Maybe you were dreaming."

"Bullshit." He runs a hand roughly through his hair, leaving wet spikes behind. "I can remember the way—"

"The way what?" I ask.

His face grows guarded quickly, like a light switch being flipped. "Don't fuck around with me."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Stop!" he rasps, and his hand is suddenly gripping my upper arm. He's kind of rough and I kind of love it. "Stop being like this."

"Being like what? You're being so cryptic," I reply.

"I know you kissed me, Bella. I can remember the way your goddamn lips felt! Don't tell me it was a dream!"

"Fine. It wasn't," I say boldly, staring up at him, feeling his grasp on me grow tighter and watching as his face grows more confused.

"Why?" he asks, brows pulled together, face tense.

I merely shrug, but my heart is reminding me it still beats, that I'm still alive and very much awake and here. I feel the rush of realization all over my body. "I was curious," I whisper to him. I lean forward into his hold and add, barely breathing, "I'm still curious."

Too many emotions flicker over Edward's face.

I can't keep up with them all.

But I don't really care, not when I see his eyes drop down to my lips. Not when I see him really look at me, without guard or hesitation or doubt.

He grabs my other arm now, too, and he's holding me so tight that it hurts a little. He can't make up his mind what to do. And I almost feel bad for him—briefly—because I know this is a spot he's never been in before. And who could he ever go to for advice?

"Edward," I say softly.

His gaze snaps back to mine, his eyes brightly tortured.

He looks for only a second.

And then he kisses me.

I gasp even though I'm halfway expecting it. But I don't expect the heat of it, the beauty of it. He's not sweet and careful the way I thought he'd be. He's pushing and passionate and almost angry. But it's still perfection. It's still sugar-sweet and lovely.

He lets go of my arms to grab my waist beneath the water, to pull me closer. But that's not enough, so he grasps my chin, my hair, my neck. My lungs burn and my arms wrap around his shoulders, holding him close, because I'm greedy and I know this won't last.

Edward's hand weaves into the strands of hair at the nape of my neck, and he tugs back sharply, sending my eyes up into the stars as his lips trail pure fire over my jaw, down my throat. He kisses and bites so softly, all the way down. And then all the way back up, and I swear he's trembling.

I'm trembling, too.

The whole world is.

"Kiss me again," I whisper into the sky, and he tilts my head down, melds our lips together once more, so fiercely that I still see stars dancing behind my eyelids. I hug him so tightly, and his hands are on my waist again, squeezing and exploring.

We kiss and kiss and kiss in the pretty blue pool, and I'm drowning without ever once going under water.

And then things slow, and Edward pulls away, the way I knew he would.

His shocked, desire-hazed eyes find mine briefly, and he's already shaking his head. "We shouldn't have," he whispers beneath his breath. "We shouldn't have."

"It's okay," I say in response, touching his neck, playing with his wet hair. And such a simple touch feels like a resounding victory, a perfect gift. I lean in to press my lips chastely to his once more. Even so, my heart squeezes delightedly. "It's okay, Edward."

"No, it's not," he says. "Bella, it's not. It's not okay—"

"I won't tell."

He finally stops shaking his head. He finally looks at me squarely. But he doesn't speak.

"I won't tell," I repeat, softly and tenderly. "It'll be our secret. It'll be our secret like the movies."

"This isn't like the movies—" he begins.

I put my finger to his lips, shushing him. He's staring up at me, and unimaginably, he looks vulnerable. Scared.

I have to reassure him.

So I say, once more, "It's our secret. Okay?"

He doesn't even hesitate. He just nods. "Okay."

* * *

**Inspired by Lana Del Rey's Blue Jeans video. (; Also, the last chapter before the time jump!**


	15. Chapter 15

**I'm sorry for the delay! I was dealing with a family emergency and a chapter that refused to cooperate. Also, I've gotten quite a few questions regarding an update schedule. I try to post every other day when things aren't so hectic. Sometimes, though, I get a little behind! I'll try to do better! (:**

**A quick reminder: THIS IS NINE MONTHS LATER, at the beginning of summer. Bella has just turned 17.**

**"But, baby, I want you, I want you." - Lana, of course.**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

The house is different again, but the pool is the same.

So is Carmen.

She sits outside with me, and we watch the sky turn to the color of angry blue eyes. A summer storm is impending, and I savor the electric breeze that whispers around us. The air is damp, sharp, thrilling.

Carmen takes a drag off her cigarette before going on with her updates. "They broke up. For two months. It was right after you left. Miss Renee said it was because Mr. Cullen didn't like how little they saw each other."

I flick ash into the ashtray and smirk. "Oh, really?"

She blows out a cloud of smoke, shrugging one shoulder. "That's what she said. I don't know if it's true or not. But whatever it was, Miss Renee won him back."

"She always does," I remark, looking over to the guesthouse on the opposite side of the pool. It's a smaller, less lavish version of the house. And it was all for show, for we never had any guests.

Until now.

"She stole a man away from his wife," I say, and I'm not sure why. It just kind of tumbles past my lips, the way things always seem to do when I'm with Carmen. I realize, logically, that I'm too close to her. That I share too much. But sometimes, I'm scared I'll explode into a million pieces if I don't share these things with someone.

Carmen's my someone.

And she doesn't know what to say. "Did she?" is all she can manage.

I nod, letting smoke whisper past my lips as I find Carmen's big brown eyes. "She did, though she swears they were just friends until the divorce papers went through. Then she was wife number four."

Carmen blinks once. "Well, Miss Renee certainly knows what to say. Mr. Cullen doesn't seem to be a man easily swayed."

"Why do you suppose they date?" I inquire curiously, because out of everyone in the house, Carmen sees and knows the most. Because she's just the maid. She's just the help. The invisible help.

Carmen shakes her head. "I don't know, Isabel. I think it's because Mr. Cullen likes having an older woman to take care of him. I think it makes him feel safer—and younger. He mentioned to me once that he doesn't like the idea of growing up."

I purse my lips, soaking this in. And then, quietly, I murmur, "Do you think Renee aspires to marry him?"

Carmen's face grows careful, because even though I think she's mine, my friend, she isn't. She isn't really. She's my employee.

"I think Miss Renee likes marriage," is all she says.

Which is true.

Mommy Dearest has been married four times now, at the ripe age of forty-one.

"And how do you think Mr. Cullen feels about this?" I ask.

"I think one of the reasons Mr. Cullen feels safe is because he thinks Miss Renee _doesn't_ want marriage."

I smile slowly, tiredly, and my eyes flicker over, watching as the sky twists and darkens further; feeling the wind tug playfully at my hair. "I suppose Mr. Cullen is in for a rude awakening, then."

* * *

The annual museum fundraiser is tonight, my first night home.

Renee already bought me a dress.

It's floor-length, cherry red, 1940s glamour. It's flowy fabric and shoulder pads that are tasteful, rather than dated. It's cinched at the waist and it's long-sleeved. And it's all Grace Kelly class.

I tell Renee she did well.

She beams behind me, at our reflection in the mirror. "I'm glad you like it, sweetie." She reaches up, brushing my hair over to one shoulder, completing the look. And then she hugs me tightly. "I've missed you so much. I hated you didn't come home for Christmas."

"I missed you, too," I reply, turning in her hold, hugging her back.

"Did you have fun in the Bahamas with Rose, though?"

"Yes," I lie flawlessly.

"Good. I'm glad." Renee pulls back enough to look at me, to smile proudly at me. There are lines around her eyes—her only wrinkles—and they kind of break my heart. I'm not sure why, but they do.

"You look beautiful," I say nonetheless, because even with laugh lines, my mother is flawless, natural perfection—the kind I could never be.

"You're sweet," Mom says with a laugh and kisses my cheek. "But you're the beautiful one, sweet pea."

I smile at her as she touches my cheek so gently and carefully. Her own smile fades, a troubled look clouding her pretty eyes. And then she sighs and drops her hand.

"Bella, I know we talked about this on the phone before it happened. But I just wanted to make sure you're okay with Edward living in the guesthouse," she says.

I arch my brows, a motion of surprise I can't suppress. "Of course. It's not really my decision to make, anyway."

"But it is." Renee sighs again, sinks down to rest on the corner of my bed. She smoothes her hands meticulously over the golden silk of her dress, flattening nonexistent wrinkles. "Edward has brought it to my attention multiple times now how very negligent I can be when it comes to you. I don't do it out of malice. Sometimes, I just don't think it through, how my actions affect you. You've always been such a good girl, Bella, always so quiet about things. I think it just slips my mind how much you've been hurt by my decisions."

I don't know what to say. It's the first time I've been speechless in a very long time.

Renee pushes on quietly. "But like I said last summer, this time is different. I'm doing better now. Things at the museum are great. I like Edward very much. I'm happy. And I'm going to try my best not to ever put you through any more trauma. So if you aren't happy with Edward living here, please tell me."

I'm silent for the longest time, trying to find words in my shell-shocked mind. Finally, I manage to say, levelly enough, "I don't mind Edward living here." It's the truth, and it's the only thing I can think to say.

"You promise?"

Edward living here is the perfect piece to the puzzle. It seems too good to be true, really. So it's without hesitation that I say, honestly, "I promise."

* * *

I don't see him.

Not until I've been passed around by Renee to all the richest people at the party.

When I see him, it's from across the room. He's wearing a tux, and he's as beautiful as ever—not that I expected anything less. His hair is a bit longer now, curling ever so slightly at the nape of his neck, and he looks like a million dollar man as his eyes scan the crowd.

And then our gazes meet. His lips part, as if he's going to speak, as if I'd be able to hear him from across the room, but then he just smiles. It's a crooked smile, and it kind of takes my breath. It dizzies me.

His chin jerks up in silent acknowledgement, and I love that.

My lips curve upwards in a cool smile.

Then someone is descending on him, grabbing at his arm, shaking his hand, and Edward smiles so charmingly at them. He's Old Hollywood charisma, and everyone seems to see it, to be drawn to it, like a moth to flame. People start surrounding him until he's almost cut off from my sight.

But through the crowd, his eyes find mine once more. They crinkle and sparkle and wink, and I know, even though I can't see his mouth anymore—I _know _he's smiling. And I know it's beautiful.

* * *

After Renee's talk, my plans of pursuing Edward wavered.

But once I see him, the wavering is gone, replaced instead with a steel-like determination.

I know better. I know that he's too old, too taken, too involved in a rising career. I know he's everything I don't need. I know I'm everything he doesn't need, too.

But I simply don't care.

I'm usually not so callous. I put on a good show, of course, because that is what's expected of me, after all. I'm a rich girl. I'm a teenager. I'm friends with Rosalie Hale, the media's wild child. And there are certain things I have to do, to keep appearances.

But I've always consoled myself with the idea that deep down, I'm not such a wretched person. Deep down, perhaps there's a nicer side. A more compassionate, loving side. An honest side. A normal girl buried beneath all the glitz and luxury.

My realization that I want Edward, that I will do anything to have him, despite who I hurt, is a slap to my naïve ideals.

I'm no better than Rose.

I'm not better than my mother.

I'm just a bitch who will step on whoever it takes to get her way.

It's frightening, and I wish it weren't so. But I'm honest with myself. Because if you can't be honest with yourself, who _can_ you be honest with?

* * *

I catch Edward's eyes again an hour later.

He's talking to the governor.

But he's looking at me.

It's flattering, chest-fluttering, and I smile at him. I look towards the side door of the museum—the one that leads into the secret gardens we went into last summer. I nod towards it.

Edward's gaze follows mine. Then he kind of shrugs and subtly tilts his head towards the long-winded governor. Then he pretends to nod off, put to sleep by the governor's monologue.

I giggle out loud, drawing the disapproving look of an older woman beside me.

Meanwhile, the governor nearly catches Edward in the disrespectful act, so he quickly throws up a deeply intent, curious face, nodding at whatever stupidity the governor spouts.

But only a moment later, green eyes are skipping back to mine.

I point at the door again.

Edward hesitates for only a moment. And then he's looking back at the governor, nodding again, reaching out to pat the older man's shoulder. I see Edward's pouty lips move quickly. I think he says, "Excuse me."

So I smile and turn away, drifting like smoke towards the doors, expecting him to follow.

And he does.

* * *

"Hey," he says quietly, shutting the door behind him.

I'm already at the roses, smoking a cigarette, my arm wrapped around my waist. "Hi."

Edward walks over, tucking his hands in his pockets. The wind whispers through the quiet fairytale courtyard, fluttering his hair into his eyes. He pauses to push it back.

"Your hair's darker," he murmurs when he's close. He reaches out, touches the ends of the dark brown strands, whisper-soft.

"It gets darker every year," I reply. "I was blonde when I was first born."

"Really?" His brows arch. "I can't imagine you being a blonde."

"I was," I say, nodding. And then, with a small smile, I add, "And very cute, too."

Edward laughs, leaning back against the wrought iron railing that barely holds back the exploding rose bushes.

"This is where you say, 'Not much has changed,'" I instruct him.

Edward shakes his head, eyes dancing in the moon-bathed night. "Still fishing for compliments, I see."

"It's what women do, Edward. I would've thought you'd know that by now." I smirk before taking another drag from my cigarette.

"I obviously don't understand girls. I'm not sure I ever will." Edward inhales and looks up into the starry sky. "How was school?"

"Absolutely riveting."

His crooked grin flits across his lips. "I guess that never changes."

"I certainly doubt it."

Edward sighs and drops his head from the sky, looking down at his shoes instead. He only pauses for a moment, the wheels in his mind turning, and then he turns his head and meets my eyes with his. "I wanted to talk to you. About last summer."

I'm the one who sighs now. "I figured as much. Let me guess: it was all a mistake. What were you thinking—oh, that's right, you weren't thinking. It was wildly inappropriate. It will never happen again. Etcetera, etcetera." I smile playfully. "Am I close?"

"Shockingly so." Edward grins back at me, but his eyes are troubled, just as I knew they would be. "Look, Bella, besides all the obvious, I really was out of line. I'm the adult. And I should have never let that happen."

"It was just a little kiss, Edward," I whisper, looking up at him from beneath my lashes. "Hardly anything to get so worked up over."

"It wasn't just that," he says, shaking his head. He's cool and calm. He's carefully built walls and practiced speech. He adds, "Last summer was just a series of inappropriate remarks and touches. I shouldn't have ever let it go so far. What I'm saying is, I just don't want to give you the wrong idea."

"And what's that?" I inquire, smiling ever so softly. "That you want me?"

This wobbles him. I can see it in the hard way he swallows. But other than that, his face remains composed—a true lawyer.

"Right," he says.

"Why'd you do it, then?" I ask, sweet curiosity lacing my voice. "Why'd you kiss me?"

Edward's lips part, but he doesn't know what to say. Of course he doesn't. This wasn't part of his planned speech.

"I don't know," he finally manages.

"Don't you?" I challenge, turning to face him completely. I take a step closer until I smell boyish spice and warmth: his undeniable scent that I've missed for months now. "You're a logical guy, Edward. I don't think you just kiss random sixteen-year-old girls for the hell of it."

"I don't," he says quickly.

"Then why'd you kiss me?"

"Bella, look—" he begins, taking a step back. And then he reaches out, grabbing my arms, holding me away, but I revel still in the warmth of his touch.

"What? I'm only curious."

"You're not curious. You're a temptress. That's what you are."

"A temptress?" I laugh, rolling my eyes. "Who even says that?"

Edward looks halfway irritated, halfway amused. "Bella, come on. Don't make this difficult for me. You have to stop being so flirty with me. It… it's not appropriate, first and foremost. And secondly, it makes me uncomfortable."

"You flirted back," I state.

"I know I did. That's what I meant about last summer being so inappropriate. I've been… I've been leading you on, without even meaning to. And if you have some kind of crush on me, it has to stop. You know that, right?" He looks down at me, and his eyes are earnest green.

I don't answer him with anything but a smile. It's the best kind of mystery and torture.

And it has the exact effect I wanted.

Anger briefly dances over his features, and sternness takes its place. "Don't. Don't start, Bella. Don't start fucking around with me again, okay?"

I gently push his hands away from me. I drop my cigarette, smear out the flame, and start back towards the museum doors. When I'm almost there, I pause to peep over my shoulder; to watch Edward's face as I inquire, so virtuously, "I wouldn't do that, would I?"

His expression collapses into a mixture of doubt and tiredness.

But I just grin again and walk back into the party.

* * *

**If you want to see Bella's red dress, look on my profile! I put the link up (: I hope everyone is doing well and having a good day/night! (; oxoxoxo**


	16. Chapter 16

**I feel like the worst person ever. There have been so many precious, hilarious, kind reviews, and I've just gotten overrun. I hate that I can't respond to each and every one of y'all individually because y'all are seriously amazing. I'm really, really grateful for all the support, all the in-depth analysis, and everything else in between. Just know, even if I don't respond directly, I take to heart what y'all say and it makes me so happy. I love y'all!**

**I'll never let you see/ ****The way my broken heart is hurtin' me/ ****I've got my pride and I know how to hide/ ****All my sorrow and pain/ ****I'll do my cryin' in the rain." -the bestest boys, The Everly Brothers**

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

It's midnight and pouring rain outside.

So I sit in the middle of my bed, bundled in covers and bunkered between pillows, my eyes glued to the TV screen as _It's A Wonderful Life_ plays.

Tonight, I'm old pajamas and a green face mask. I'm relaxation and alone time. I'm contentment with a bag of Cheetos by my side.

And then Renee comes in, shattering it all.

I sigh, pausing the movie as she pads over and climbs into bed beside me. She lays her head on my shoulder and wraps her slim arms so tightly around me.

"What's wrong?" I ask wearily.

"Nothing," Renee replies. "I just missed you, sweet pea. I feel like I haven't seen you in years." She pulls back, pausing to tuck some hair gently behind my ear. And then she tells me the real reason. "Edward and I had a fight."

"What about?" I ask, my heart tripping up in my chest.

Renee leans back against the headboard, staring at the paused TV screen but not seeing any part of it. "About his living arrangements."

"About him living in the guesthouse?" I ask.

She nods.

"What's with that, anyway? It's kinda weird considering we have about a billion other rooms in this house."

Renee rubs tiredly at her eyes. "I think he's afraid to live here."

"He technically already does live here," I murmur, frowning.

"Yes, but separately. He has his own kitchen, his own living room—his own house, really. I think in his mind, it means he's still independent from _our_ house."

I purse my lips, debating. And then I shrug. "Well, if that's what makes him happy. I don't really see the problem. He _does_ live here. Doesn't that make you happy?"

"I don't know," Renee says, which I knew she would. Because I don't think it's possible for Renee to be truly happy, not for any prolonged period of time, anyway. Her happiness is as brief and ever-changing as the weather. Her happiness is like a fad that she goes through and then discards for discontentment.

I say, "So you two argued about where he's living?"

She nods quietly, picking at the duvet.

"Come on, Mom. He already moved here," I soothe. "That must mean something to you."

"Oh, it does." She nods again, mechanically. "It does."

I look at her profile, trying to catch a glimpse into her eyes—into seeing how she truly feels—but tonight, she's blocked off from me. It reminds me that maybe I don't know my mother as well as I think.

Finally, because I can't stand not knowing, I ask, "Do you feel that strongly towards him, Mom? Or is it just his money?"

Surprisingly enough, she doesn't get angry. She only blows out a breath and says, "He's not worth that much. Not until his parents die."

"But the Cullen name is top tier. I know you've always wanted to be a high society darling. Having that last name would put you there," I murmur.

Renee tilts her head, pulling her hair gently over her left shoulder. Her lips purse, her eyes far away. "Ever since I was a little girl, that's all I've wanted—you're right. I wanted people to know me. I wanted to be rich. I wanted to have nice things and know powerful people." Her eyes are here, in the present, staring right at me, _really_ seeing me. "So that was the draw to begin with, I suppose. But I didn't know Edward would be the way he is."

"And what way is that?" I ask with a knotted stomach, a pained heart.

Renee smiles and shrugs. "I don't know, Bella. It's hard to describe. I… I've wanted to be someone else for so long. As long as I can remember. And sometimes, I forget who I really am. I forget what's true and what's not. But he helps me remember. And that's nice."

"Do you love him?" I ask, because I have to know. I have to know despite the guilt eating away at my stomach.

I halfway expect the same answer I got last summer. I most definitely expect for Renee to take a pause, to think it over, to debate and word her reply carefully. But she surprises me. She merely shakes her head and looks away, into the past again.

"No," she murmurs. "I've only ever loved one man, Bella. I don't think I'll ever love like that again."

"Who?" I ask, realizing that my mother is as much a mystery to me as ever.

Renee smiles again, reaching out to grab my hand. She squeezes it, and my heart squeezes in return. "Maybe I'll tell you one day. But that's a long story."

I do know Renee well enough to recognize she's done talking for the day. So I just nod.

"What movie are you watching?" she asks, switching subjects flawlessly.

"_It's A Wonderful Life_."

"Our old favorite," she hums. "Remember how we used to watch it all the time, even when it wasn't Christmas?"

"It made us feel happy," I whisper.

I hold her hand tighter, even though she hasn't tried to pull it away. I guess I'm just scared she will. "Do you want to watch it with me?" I ask, and the words are too quiet, too timid.

I am not timid, though.

I am starlet confident and collected.

So I add, lightly, "I have Cheetos, too—to ease your anguish."

Renee squeezes my hand. And then she starts to pull away. "I'd love to, more than anything, but I have to pack. I'm leaving for Paris early this year. My flight's only in a few hours."

I nod, because this is the answer I expect. But what I don't expect is the old burn in my eyes. I don't expect the tightness in my throat or the press of pain and heartache in my chest. Those are things I don't allow myself the luxury of. Those are things I'm usually in control of.

"Okay," I whisper.

Renee leans in, kissing my forehead. "As soon as I get back, though, okay? We'll have a girls' night. We'll paint our nails and watch this movie and eat ice cream. Sound like a deal?"

And just like that, the pain fades. It's easy to pretend it never existed.

My words come back to me. And I say, breezily, "Sounds like a deal."

Then we say our goodbyes, and she's gone, and I start to watch _It's A Wonderful Life_ again.

But I stop it only a moment later and watch _Breakfast at Tiffany's_ instead.

* * *

I bounce down the steps in my white, vintage-cute tennis outfit with my retro-high ponytail swinging.

Edward's downstairs, home from work, briefcase in hand.

I smile at him as he glances over, his eyes getting a little stuck on my curves, on my legs.

He quickly tries to cover with a smile of his own. "I thought you said you weren't the athletic type." He motions to the tennis racket held in my hand.

I twirl it playfully. "I'm not, really. But tennis is the only thing I don't find completely boring to play. It keeps me in shape. It's how Carmen and I hold on to our beautiful figures. Isn't that right, Carmen?"

Carmen is all warmth and laugh lines as she drifts out from the kitchen with her own racket in hand. "That's right, Isabel."

"Want to join us?" I inquire, looking up at Edward sweetly.

He checks his watch. "I don't know. I have a lot of cases to work on."

"Why, Carmen, I think New York's youngest ADA is afraid," I say, pretending to be mystified.

Carmen purses her lips, looping her arm around my waist. "You may be right, Isabel."

Edward just rolls his eyes, grinning good-naturedly. "I don't have a racket."

"We'll let you borrow one," I return without a pause.

His eyes fall to mine, sparkling and doubtful and mischievous. Then he sighs and nods. "Fine. Just one game."

* * *

One game turns into three.

Carmen leaves only after one match because her son graduates elementary school today.

It leaves Edward and I alone on the court, playing for the next two hours, until the sky starts darkening with an oncoming storm.

But neither of us seems to notice.

"I didn't know you had this court behind the house," Edward remarks, tossing the tennis ball in his hand before serving.

"Well, we don't always use it," I reply, shrugging. Then I arch my brows. "Are you going to serve while I'm still young?"

Edward's smirk is dazzling. He pitches the green ball up into the air and smacks it over to my side. I return it effortlessly. He does the same only a moment later.

The games until now have been casual. But even still, Edward has won them. Beneath his lazy swings and smiles, I know his competitive side burns. I know he can't lose, not even in a simple game.

So now I give him a real challenge. Because that's what he wants.

It's been years since I've played to win, but it must be like riding a bike—because I'm still good.

Soon, Edward and I are diving and running and swinging the rackets with true force. And it's neck and neck. I'm holding my own against him. And I think maybe I might just win.

But then I feel the first splatters of rain against my back.

Then lightning pulses in the sky, and earth shaking thunder follows suit.

Edward immediately stops the game. "Let's go back to the house!" he calls to me, yelling to be heard as another ripple of thunder shudders around us.

I nod.

And the bottom of the sky suddenly drops out.

It's been a long time since I stood out in a rainstorm. I'm suddenly back in time, to a greener, prettier place. To a place where I would stand outside and tilt my head up towards the stormy heavens and wait for the rain. Where I would stay as long as it took to get drenched by cool summer rain on a hot summer day.

The place of princess Band-Aids and kissed boo-boos and teddy bears bigger than I was and a ridiculous mustache and the smell of coffee every morning and the comfort of being hugged.

That place is gone, now, though—gone for me, anyway.

"Bella!"

I jerk, looking up at Edward.

He's as drenched as I am, tugging gently on my arm. "Come on," he says.

I don't really want to go. But the lightning is streaking closer to us now, and the thunder strains my ears with its ferocity, so I let Edward lead me away, back towards the house.

And I think that's where we'll go, too—inside the house.

Yet when we're on the back patio—where pelting rain is shattering the pool's normally calm surface—Edward pulls me inside the guesthouse for refuge, instead.

"Jesus," Edward says once we're inside, dripping water over the dark hardwoods. "I hate rain."

I smile slightly, my eyes quickly roaming over the room. Every ornate item is all Renee's, along with the thick white rugs and the ivory and gold décor. But Edward lives here. It's obvious in all the books spread over the tables and shelves. It's obvious in the clutter of papers. It's obvious in the organized chaos of the room.

I look back over at him as he's wringing out the hem of his shirt. I catch a glimpse of his stomach, and my heart pounds. "I love the rain," I say.

Edward glances up at me from beneath his lashes as he keeps squeezing water out of his polo.

"It reminds me of home," I add.

"And where's that?" he asks, reaching up to push wet hair out of his eyes.

I don't want to answer, nor do I want to discuss it. I shouldn't have even mentioned it. So I just shrug at him and smile and drift over to a bookshelf, eyeing an old picture sitting on the ledge.

Gently, I pick it up and look closer, looking down into the face of a simple-pretty woman with an average face and an extraordinary smile. "Who's this?" I inquire quietly, taking in the fading of the photograph, the feathered hair of the woman.

"My mom," Edward says, coming to stand behind me as he looks over my shoulder. He smells like summer storms and boyish spice, and he's so warm. "My real mom."

"What was her name?" I ask.

"Elizabeth," Edward replies, his voice kind of quiet, reverent almost.

I swipe carefully at a speck of dust on the frame. "Tell me about her. Tell me about what you remember."

"She was kind of shy and quiet," he murmurs, taking the frame from me, looking at it closer. "But she was the sweetest person I've ever known—just really gentle and kind. Kinda naïve, too, though." Edward sets the picture back on the shelf and shrugs. "She married my dad when she was only sixteen."

I feel my eyebrows rise sharply.

Edward nods in allowance. "Yeah. She was young. And pretty crazy to marry my dad. He was kind of an asshole."

I'm not sure what to say. So I look to another bookshelf, this one housing a picture of a very young Carlisle and Esme, both beaming, radiating warmth and everything good.

"Were you happy when the Cullens adopted you?" I ask.

"Yeah," Edward replies, leaning against the wall. "They treated me like I was their own kid. They couldn't have any of their own, you know? That's why they took me in." Then he exhales a quick laugh. "They kind of smothered me, actually."

I smile. "That's understandable, I guess," I say, even though I don't really know what it's like to be smothered. Even though I don't think it sounds terrible.

As I think this, I'm leaning forward, inspecting book titles. That's when I feel Edward touch me.

It's just a light touch. He barely brushes his fingers through my wet, fallen hair. And so gently, he tucks it back behind my ear. I turn my head and look up at him, my heart beating louder than the rain outside.

He's not looking me in the eye, but he _is_ looking at me. He's really looking and really seeing—but I don't know what, exactly, he sees.

It's a little maddening.

It's a little frightening.

Then his knuckles glide so lightly over my cheekbone. It's such a careful touch, but I'm thrown off balance with it. Everything tilts. I think I sigh. I _know_ I shut my eyes because my world is suddenly only darkness and heat and barely-touching touches.

My hand comes up, grabbing his, pressing his palm against me. I lean into his touch, shivering at the warmth of it. At the comfort and the excitement. At the safety and the danger.

His thumb brushes over my bottom lip.

And my eyes are open, staring up into his beautiful face, watching as he watches my lips part for him.

His breathing is unsteady.

So is mine.

Then he's pulling away, shaking his head, pushing his hands deep into the pockets of his shorts. "I'm sorry," he says, voice muffled. "I'm sorry, that wasn't—I shouldn't have…"

I don't want him to stop. The absence of his touch is crushing. It really is. I don't understand how, but I feel the dull ache in my chest as surely as I felt his fingertips on my skin.

"It's okay," I whisper quickly, taking a step forward to follow him.

But he takes another step back, keeping the distance between us. "No, it's not."

"It _is_," I reply and I hear the stubbornness in my voice.

He's shaking his head, refusing to look anywhere but his feet.

Irritation stabs at me. "It's not a big deal, Edward. You didn't even do anything. It's fine—"

"No, it's not, goddamn it!" he shouts, freezing me up, shocking me. He's all trembling hands and agitated movement; disappointment and anger flashing in his eyes. He runs his fingers through his wet hair roughly. "It's not okay, Bella. It isn't fine. It's wrong. It is completely wrong for me to touch you like that."

"Like what?" I challenge. "You didn't _do_ anything, Edward."

"I was going to."

And he finally looks at me, his gaze unwavering. His words are harsh, bitter almost, but they still send me spinning faster than the most romantic lines of poetry.

I sway a little. My whole world does.

Edward looks away sharply and runs his hands over his face before turning his back to me. "I really do have cases I need to work on, Bella."

"I—"

"Please," he breaks in. "Please, just leave me alone for a while."

His words are painful jabs, but I don't know what else to do. So I leave with as much dignity as I can.

* * *

**I forgot to say thanks to all the people wishing me well with my family emergency! I appreciate it! Prayers would always be welcome! Thanks, guys! oxoxoxo**


	17. Chapter 17

**Thanks for all the prayers and well wishes! Y'all are the bestest! **

**"Cause I was filled with poison/ ****But blessed with beauty and rage." -Lana Del Rey (FROM ULTRAVIOLENCE AHHH!) **

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

He tries to avoid me for the next five days.

His plan would work better if he didn't live twenty feet away, though.

By the sixth day, I've grown utterly bored with his evasion. But still, I don't push him. I can't risk scaring him for forever, or seeming too desperate.

The only problem is the boredom.

Carmen is missing days left and right because her youngest child is sick, and since Edward is suddenly working triple overtime at his office, it leaves me alone in the house for hours and hours at a time.

So when Rose calls to tell me she'll be in town, that we should go out, I say yes despite my better judgment.

When I see Edward downstairs for the first time in days, he doesn't just say hello and keep walking. He pauses as I pass him. And then I can feel him looking at me—or rather, looking at what I'm wearing.

I expect his response, but it still makes me smile when he asks, "What the hell are you wearing?"

My hair falls forward to hide my smirk as I grab my keys off the foyer table and drop them into my clutch. "It's a dress, Edward. You've seen me wear one before."

"It looks like a shirt."

"That's the whole point," I reply, glancing over at him.

He's staring at the body-hugging, black lace dress like he doesn't know what to think of it.

"I'm going out with Rose. She said to wear something sexy. Do you think this fits the bill?" I motion at myself with a syrup-sweet smile.

Edward's eyes find mine, his gaze a bit challenging. "Going clubbing again? I thought you learned your lesson the first time."

I make a face. "Goodnight, Edward." Then I turn for the door.

"Hey, wait, Bella," he says, walking closer to me than he has in days. But it's still not close enough. "Be careful, all right? I don't trust Rose."

I decide to close the gap between us. I step close—very close—until I have to tilt my head all the way back just to meet his eyes. He doesn't back away, either. I whisper, "Don't you trust _me_?"

"Not as far as I can throw you," Edward replies without missing a beat.

I smile.

And so does he before he takes that infuriating step back and says, "Just don't get into trouble, okay?"

"Never," I respond.

* * *

The rainy world is spinning so hard that I almost fall into the pool.

But I catch myself on a chair. And even though it kind of hurts, I laugh because it's so very ridiculous. Then I stumble forward in the pouring rain, on to the guesthouse and golden glow spilling from the windows.

I lean against the doorframe heavily to keep myself upright, and then I knock.

He answers almost immediately.

It's the first time I've ever seen him in plain clothes—Nike basketball shorts and a T-shirt and socks. Maybe I thought I'd miss the Old Hollywood of his suits and polo shirts. But seeing him now, I realize it isn't his clothes that give him grace and class. It's just him. He could look movie star good in anything.

"Hey," he says, his voice sleep-scratchy and deep. Then he really sees me—with smudged mascara and messy hair and drenched clothes and high heels held in my hand—and then he doesn't seem so sleepy anymore. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," I reply, and then I laugh even though it's not funny.

"What are you doing in the rain? Are you drunk?" He catches me when I accidently pitch forward. He's warm and smells like laundry detergent.

"And sad and lonely, too," I mumble into the soft cotton fabric of his shirt.

"Get in," he says, and he sounds irritable, but I don't care because he's pulling me inside the guesthouse that's all his. He kicks the door shut behind us, and then I'm tottering in the middle of the living room, dripping water onto the floor, shivering slightly in the air-conditioned coolness.

"What the hell are you thinking?" he asks, walking over to the couch and pulling a blanket off the back. Then he's draping it over my shoulders, which is so, so sweet.

I don't know why, but I suddenly kind of want to cry.

But I _am not_ a crier.

I _am not_ that girl.

So I shake my head and say, "I don't think I think most of the time." Which is funny sounding and almost makes me smile. But I can't remember how.

"How'd you get home? Did you drive like this?"

"I took a taxi," I say, and then wipe my nose because I'm cold and it's running like crazy.

Edward is over by the thermostat, turning it up—just for me, which is so, so sweet, too. But he's glaring when he looks over at me. "Where's Rose?"

I shrug and it's slow and drawn-out because everything is delayed. Just like my laughter. And then I tilt forward again, but Edward's arms hold me up before I can hit the floor. I'm still laughing.

And he's muttering, "I knew I shouldn't have let you go out with her."

"You think it's her fault," I accuse. "You think she made me drink. But she didn't. It's not her fault. It's not her fault I'm fucked-up."

"Bella," Edward says, trying to get me to stand on my own two feet again, but I'm not in the mood. I like him holding me.

"It's not her fault, Edward. I like to drink. I do it all the time—you just didn't know. No one does. Not even my mom. I've taken liquor out of her personal stash before and she's never even noticed. Isn't that sad, Edward?"

"Bella, stand up, please," he tells me.

"No," I say into his shirt and then laugh.

He sighs and bends a little and then he's picking me up. He does it like I weigh nothing, and I gasp and giggle delightedly, my heart fluttering as my feet leave the ground.

He deposits me on the couch all too soon, and I pout up at him.

He doesn't seem to notice.

"Sit here," he orders. "Don't move."

"Where are you going?" I demand.

"To get you coffee," he replies, ducking out of sight, into the kitchen.

I roll my eyes and manage to push myself into a standing position. The blanket falls off my shoulders, and I'm cold again, my wet skin and clothes turning to ice. But I barely pay it any attention.

I just drift over to the bookshelves, staring at that old picture of Edward's mom. The longer I look at her, the prettier she gets. I thought maybe she was kind of plain at first, but there's something about her eyes, her thousand-watt smile, that makes her beautiful.

More beautiful than me.

Because while I have a better face, I'm big, sad, dark eyes and a sly smile. I'm not true. I'm not genuine.

I'm all make-believe and pretend.

I sigh.

"Bella."

I jump and peep over my shoulder, finding Edward and his disapproving face. He grabs my arm gently, starts leading me back to the couch.

"I told you not to get up," he's saying.

But I ignore him. "I'm cold. Can you unzip my dress?"

"_What_?" he asks, the one syllable flat and disbelieving.

"Unzip me," I say, pointing at the back of my dress. "So I can take it off. It's wet, and I'm cold. I already said that."

"You don't have anything else to wear—"

"I'll wrap up in the blanket."

"Bella—"

"Edward, you are so terribly stuffy," I snap, jerking away from him. I pull my wet, waving hair to one shoulder and reach behind as best I can to start unzipping my dress myself.

"Bella, stop trying to take your clothes off."

I stick my tongue out at him and keep trying to pull down the zipper.

Blowing out a sigh, he finally comes to stand behind me. Warm, big hands brush mine away gently. I feel the zipper go down, slower than I think is necessary, but I certainly don't complain.

Then we're both quiet.

Edward still stands behind me. I can feel his warm breath whispering ever so lightly at the nape of my neck, sending shivers down my spine, into my tippy-toes. Then he says, subdued, "I'll go get you a shirt of mine to wear."

He starts for the bedroom, and I follow him because I want to see where he sleeps.

It's as messy as I expect.

He doesn't even bother to make the bed. The duvet has almost completely fallen off the mattress, and books are scattered among the tangled sheets. His bedside table is littered with notepads and pens and pencils. The floor is covered with hastily yanked off shoes and shirts.

Edward opens his closet, his back to me, and searches for a shirt.

And I go ahead and shimmy out of my soaking wet dress.

"This one should be warm—" he begins, turning back. And then he breaks off and looks away from me sharply, at the floor, which is so cute. "Jesus, Bella, what are you doing?"

"Taking my dress off," I reply, stepping out of the fabric. I walk over and grab the shirt from his loose grip and slide my arms through the long sleeves of the button-down. "Thank you."

Edward peeps back over experimentally and then sighs when he sees I haven't buttoned the shirt up; sees that my black bra and panties are still visible. He walks over and quickly does up the buttons for me, keeping his gaze fixed chastely on my collarbone.

I bite my lip to hide my smile.

But he still senses it. "You have to stop doing things like this."

"Okay," I say.

Edward even does up the top button, which makes me laugh and reach to undo it.

"That one doesn't need to be buttoned, Edward," I say. "I don't know why you're acting like it's such a big deal. You've seen me in a bathing suit."

Edward just shakes his head and replies, "I think the coffee's ready," before he disappears quickly, leaving me to smile after him.

* * *

"Feeling better?" Edward asks from his spot beside me on the couch.

"No," I reply and take another sip of coffee.

He sighs and rubs at his neck tiredly.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, looking down into the mug, at the brown, steaming liquid that isn't helping my fuzzy head in the least.

"What for?" Edward yawns and stretches, his long arms reaching for the ceiling briefly. It makes the hem of his shirt pull up a little, and I get to see his stomach, the top band of his boxers.

"For being like this," I say quietly.

"Drunk?" he inquires, with the first bit of playfulness he's had all night.

I try to smile at him, but it isn't quite right. "For just being… me. For tempting you all the time and everything."

Edward goes silent, and I've got too much vulnerability on my face to ever dare look up at him, to see his expression.

I can't stand the quiet so I push on. "I don't mean to be so manipulative, Edward. I really don't. But it's like… it's like I can't help it sometimes." I shift, tucking my legs underneath my bottom, and I never look away from my coffee. "I don't want to be this, but I don't know who else to be. I'm scared I'm going to be like my mother. I can already see it happening, and I don't know how to stop it."

"Bella," Edward begins gently.

But I don't want to hear his inconsequential words of comfort. I shake my head and say, "My mother can't love right. And I want to be able to love the way you should be able to love. I don't want to be like her. Because she loves me as best as she can, but it's not enough. It's never enough."

I watch, numbly horrified as one teardrop falls from my cheek and lands into my coffee. I hate the burn in my eyes, the tightness in my throat, the pressure in my chest. I hate that I can't make it go away. And I hate that it's always there, always waiting to break free, no matter what time of day.

"I wish she loved me the right way. I wish she loved me just because she loved me and not because she has to," I whisper hotly.

"Bella, she does love you. It isn't because she has to."

"You don't know that," I say, and then wipe furiously at my eyes. I lean forward, sitting the mug on the coffee table. "You only know what she lets you know."

"The same way I only know what you let me know?" he asks quietly.

I cry a little more. I shake a little, too. And I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

"Don't cry," Edward says, and he scoots closer. He puts his arm around me, and the motion is a little stiff but it's real and that's what makes it perfect. "Don't cry, Bella. You're just a kid. You still have time to change things."

I only shake my head because I've already shared too much, and I'm embarrassed. For the first time in years, my cheeks heat up until they're cherry red.

Edward's touching me all over now. He's swiping away silent tears from my cheeks. He's tucking drying hair behind my ears. He's ghosting his fingers along the nape of my neck.

And then he's kissing me.

It's just a light touch of his lips to my temple. It seems like such a natural thing to do. Then it's a kiss to my cheek. To my jaw. Then a flurry of soft, barely touching kisses that make my heart beat so crazy.

I turn my head at just the right moment, and his lips skim mine.

I think he'll pause. Maybe pull away. At least hesitate.

But he doesn't.

He just seals his mouth to mine, hot and sudden and instinctually. I suck in a quick, shocked and delighted breath, before I kiss him back just as frantically as he kisses me. Then he pulls back ever so slightly, and I expect his sigh and his shaking head, but instead he looks at me with black-hungry eyes and a tiny smile before leaning in again, touching his lips teasingly, playfully to mine.

He does it twice until I laugh softly, and then he leans back in and his tongue is inside my mouth and he tastes like cinnamon and he's kind of moaning under his breath and it makes me dizzy with desire.

I let my hands grasp at his hair, but that isn't enough. So I run my fingers greedily over his chest, his stomach, pushing them beneath the fabric of his shirt so I can feel the silky warmth of his skin against mine.

But it isn't enough to just touch, either, and I break my lips away from his and lean forward, kissing his neck and then downwards, pushing his T-shirt up higher. My lips skim over his chest and then press quick, hot kisses to his hard stomach, which tightens deliciously beneath my touch.

He groans quietly, his hands falling to rest in my hair. "What the hell are you doing to me?" he asks, so softly.

And then he's grabbing my hips, pulling me towards him—into his lap—until I'm straddling him. And he's kissing me again, harder, rougher, and I'm all heartbeat, nothing but. I can feel the delirious pound of my pulse in my toes and in the crown of my head and in the tips of my trembling fingers.

Edward's hands are hot and rough-feeling against the skin of my bare legs. He traces a path up, up, up, over my knees and my thighs, and his touch slips even higher, beneath the fabric of the button-down I wear, almost as if it isn't there.

He squeezes my hips.

I bite his bottom lip.

He says, "Fuck," and groans again, a little louder this time. Then the hands that have been holding me so tightly are pushing me to the side so he can stand up sharply.

He's shaking his head, as I knew he would be. "I'm sorry. We can't. You know we can't, Bella."

"This is getting so tiring, Edward." I sigh and drop my head against the back of the couch.

He nods. "I know. I know, and I'm sorry. Let's just… go to sleep. It's late, and I have to get up early in the morning. You can sleep in my bed, if you want. I'll take the couch—"

I stand up quickly—a little too quickly and I totter but somehow remain balanced. "Edward—" I start, reaching out for him.

But he backs away sharply, making sure I can't even come close to touching him.

Even in my desire and alcohol muddled brain, that hurts—which is ridiculous because he shouldn't have the power to hurt me.

But my hurt quickly turns to bitterness disguised as indifference.

I simply say, "I'll sleep in my own bed."

Edward just nods disjointedly.

I pause, maybe hoping he'll say something or even look at me, but he doesn't. So I just shake my head disgustedly and leave, making sure to slam the door loudly behind me.

* * *

**Progress soon. Very soon. Like, in the next chapter. I promise they'll get out of this little funk where Edward wants her and then kisses her and then feels bad about it and blah, blah, blah. But I can't just skip over all the tension because then it wouldn't be realistic. (; Thank you for sticking with me so far! oxoxoxo**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey, sweet people! I know quite a few of y'all were calling for a new character to be thrown in the mix to kind of push Edward into action, and I didn't want to tell y'all that was the plan until now. So... if you don't like Jake being used as nothing but an instrument to infuriate Edward, you might not want to read. I would usually hesitate about using Jake in such a cliche way, but I know this version of Bella would not be above using a guy to make another jealous. I mean, if we're being honest, a lot of us girls are guilty of that. Oops. ;)**

**"And I love making you jealous but don't judge me." -Beyonce**

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

"Mom, may I go out with Jake tomorrow?"

Renee glances up from her plate, appearing somewhat surprised.

I don't even bother looking at Edward. I don't care to know how he's taken the news.

"Who is Jake?" Renee asks, arching her brows as she pushes green beans around her plate rather than eating them. Since returning home from Paris, she's convinced herself she isn't as thin as the nineteen-year-old supermodels there, and thus, has decided to starve herself.

"He's a boy," I say.

Renee rolls her eyes and cracks a tired smile. "I gathered."

"He's my lover."

"Bella." Renee laughs, shaking her head. Her smile grows and it feels like a sort of victory. She hasn't been smiling much at all lately.

"He's just a boy I met through Rose. He goes to the boys' school down the road from my school," I tell her. "We met at a party. He's nice. And he called me a few nights ago, telling me he was in town. He wanted to know if we could go out."

"On a date?" Renee still smiles, but it's softer, sweeter. Maybe relieved.

Her child is finally being a normal teenager.

"He offered to buy me dinner before groping me at a movie theater. Does that count as a date?" I purse my lips in debate. "I thought it was chivalrous, in any case."

Renee laughs again. "Honestly, Bella." My mother delicately tucks her hair behind her ears and then shrugs. "It's fine with me, darling. Just don't stay out late."

"Of course not," I say, but it's all for show. Just as Renee telling me not to stay out late is for show. We both know she'll be at the museum and won't be here to monitor me.

"Wait," Edward cuts in sharply.

Renee looks over at him curiously.

I glance over at him more slowly—grudgingly.

He's frowning, but barely so. His brow is pinched in perfectly rehearsed concern, and his eyes gleam with oh-so genuine light. "Who is this guy? Shouldn't your mom at least know his last name before you go off with him?"

I roll my eyes in disgust. I've never felt more like a teenager. And Edward's never felt more like the pain in the ass, halfway stepfather he is. "My mother respects my judgment."

"I do," Renee says, nodding. "But Edward raises a good point. What _is_ his last name? Do we know his family?"

Edward actually has the audacity to raise a brow at me.

I can't remember the last time I felt so enraged. My fingers curl around my fork dangerously, but I keep my face cool as I look away from him in complete dismissal. "His last name is Black. He's from Nevada, so I doubt you know his family."

"What do they do?" Renee asks, because these are the questions that are important to her. After all, how better to know a boy's character than by the business the family is in?

"They make cars go faster or something to do with engines," I reply uninterestedly. "I don't really know. I hear the word mechanics and black out."

"And they make money from that?" Renee looks halfway horrified, halfway curious.

"It's a famous business. They're going to get their own TV show."

"Oh." Renee doesn't seem particularly impressed.

Edward certainly doesn't. "Those are all very illuminating facts. But what about the guy? Is he a good kid?"

The way he says _kid_ is an intentional slap in the face.

My gaze snaps over to him from across the table. I say, sickly sweet and biting, "Of course not. I wouldn't dare have a good _kid_ for a boyfriend. I'd rather have the scum of the earth. They're so much more interesting, don't you think?"

"Bella," Renee interjects mildly, sounding vaguely shocked by my hostility.

But I just toss my hair over my shoulder and shrug. "Sorry. I just didn't like his tone."

"My _tone_?" Edward laughs in complete incredulity and condescension.

He's sarcastic and infuriating and terribly belittling, and I suddenly realize why he's good at what he does.

He's baiting me.

But I am not one to fall trap to that sort of thing.

So I say, simply and without emotion, "Yes, you had an unsavory tone." And then I change the subject before he can try to enrage me anymore.

* * *

"I need to talk to you."

"Well, talk," I reply, drifting up the steps towards my room.

Edward follows hot on my heels. I think he's been waiting for Mom to run to the museum, because the moment she stepped out the door, he was breathing down my neck.

"I wanted to—"

"Apologize for crossing lines, for sending mixed signals, and for being an all around asshole," I finish off for him as we turn down the hall. "Apology accepted. Now please go away."

"Not just that." He exhales tiredly, walking beside me now. I can feel him looking at me, searching out the eye contact I refuse to give him. "I should never have kissed you in the first place—that's obvious enough. But this last time in particular—"

"Really, Edward, I'm not in the mood to hear your completely _worthless_ apologies, all right?" I sling my door open and look up at him. "Just leave me alone." I turn to go inside my room, with every intention of slamming the door on his stupid, sentimental face.

But then he says, "Why are you going out with that guy?"

"What?" I ask irritably, turning to face him again.

And now he's glaring. "Just to try to make me jealous? Is that it?"

"Not everything I do revolves around you, Edward," I reply flatly.

"Why are you being like this?" he demands, his agitation growing by the second. "I don't fucking understand you. You _know_ how much is at stake—me fooling around with you like this. You aren't fucking stupid. Me stopping us the other night was nothing new."

"For someone so smart, you're awfully stupid," I say, turning towards my room again. This time, I'm shutting the door no matter what he says.

But he grabs my arm, jerking me back out into the hallway. The motion is rough but not painful. It only inflames the already precarious hold I have on my calm facade.

"Then why don't you explain things to me?" Edward asks.

It's the final straw.

And suddenly, like a light switch being flipped, I'm nothing but shaky hands and red-blurred vision. I'm teary eyes. I'm shoving at his chest. I'm overcome. I'm bombarded by the rush of fury, and it's taking my breath.

"You're an asshole." My voice is quiet and trembling with a rage I can barely understand. "I was being honest with you. I was telling you everything. I was going to tell you _everything_. And you _kissed_ me, and it felt so good, and then you just took it away, like it was nothing." I'm backing him up, smacking at his chest. "You act like this is nothing. Like I'm just a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush."

Edward's back hits the wall.

But I still keep pushing him.

And I think I might be screaming now.

"I opened up to you! I told you things I can't tell anyone else because I have no one else to tell them to! Then you act like it's nothing! And you have the audacity to ask me why I'm being _this_ way? Bastard!"

I'm crying. It's the first time in years I've cried this way—big, helpless, sickly sobs that are loud and so very unglamorous.

It isn't even Edward, really. I do know myself well enough to know he isn't the real reason behind this.

But then, who is?

No one. I can't think of any one person to pin the blame on. And it just makes it worse. It just makes the confusion and hurt cloud together until I'm sick to my stomach and I'm sinking to the floor, but Edward's catching me and kind of holding me—and then _really _holding me. He's hugging me, and it's nothing wrong. It's all sweet safety and innocence, and I just cry harder.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into the crown of my hair, but I don't know what he's sorry for, exactly.

I don't care.

I've already said too much.

I've already done too much.

I'm not a scene-maker. I'm not a crier. And yet what have I done?

Humiliation floods me, numbing everything, and I pull away from Edward sharply. I wipe furiously at my eyes, refusing to look at him.

He reaches out, tries to catch my hand, but I don't let him. I shake my head. "I want to be alone for a little while."

And then I turn and go into my room, shutting the door tightly behind me, all before Edward can protest.

I don't hear him walk away until five minutes later.

Then I can breathe again.

* * *

I go out with Jake the next night.

And then the night after that and the night after that.

And then I'm seeing him almost every day, and he's taking me to silly things like carnivals and outdoor concerts, and he's buying me gifts: necklaces and bracelets and pretty things his mom probably picks out for him. Then he's calling me his girlfriend.

I'm not sure at all how I feel about it except maybe that I don't feel much at all.

He's nice and all, but he's not Hollywood. He's not old grace, and he's not vintage charm. He's the boy next door with the bright smile and the warm hugs and the ability to overlook flaws.

Maybe he's what I need.

* * *

"Jake, stop," I say, adding a small laugh so I don't sound as irritated as I feel. I push his face away from my neck. "Aren't you going to watch the movie?"

He glances at the TV screen where I've paused _Rebel Without A Cause_. "I'm sorry, Bells. It's just that I don't really like old movies, you know?"

"Then why did you say we could just stay in tonight and _watch an old movie_?" I frown at him, trying not to be as bitchy as I feel.

He looks down at my collarbone, playing with my necklace. "I don't know."

I scoff. I can't help it. Boys are so predictable.

I think about telling him to go away and leave me alone, but then I hear the faint sound of a car outside. And the pettiest side of me comes out, and I'm suddenly turning the TV off, plunging the room into almost-darkness.

I turn towards Jake and smile, running my hand up his chest, into the dark hair at the nape of his neck. "It's okay. If you don't want to watch a movie, I mean."

"Yeah?" he asks, and he's so easy. He's already looking at my lips, already nothing but dilated pupils and hopeful breath.

"Yes," I reply, and lean forward, pressing my lips so softly and gently to his.

He's warm and he tastes like Double Bubble and he's a decent enough kisser. But my heartbeat hardly even gives a flutter as he pulls me into his lap, his hands weaving into my hair.

It's all Edward's fault.

And this is my way of getting back at him.

The front door opens quietly because it's so late. Jake might hear because he hesitates for a moment, but I simply open my lips against his and hug him tighter to me and he's already distracted.

I almost roll my eyes at his weak attention span.

But I have a role to play so I pretend to be in bliss.

Then the room is bathed in sudden light, and Jacob is quickly depositing me beside him, blinking in surprise.

Edward's glaring and beautiful. His hair is just slightly too long to be professional, and tonight, it's messier than usual. His tie is pulled loose, his shirt wrinkled, and he's disheveled, leading man cool.

"Oh, hey, man," Jake's saying as he stands up. I can see the relief on his face because it's just the mom's boyfriend—not the mom. So he has nothing to worry about.

But in reality, things would go a lot smoother had it been Renee catching us instead.

"What are you still doing here?" Edward asks flatly, irritably, because he always gets irritable any time he has to address Jake directly. Edward pauses to look at his watch, as if he doesn't know what time it is. "It's past midnight. Don't you have a curfew or something?"

As always, Jake's oblivious to Edward's hostility. He just shrugs and beams. "Nah, not during the summer."

Edward looks repulsed.

Jake kind of awkwardly shifts his weight.

Edward stays silent a few moments longer, just to prolong Jake's rising discomfort. Then he says, in his most condescending lawyer voice, "Goodnight, Jacob."

Jake nods, his shoulders drooping, as if he'd expected Edward to be okay with him staying longer. He walks back over to me and leans down to press a chaste kiss to my lips. "Night, baby."

"Goodnight," I reply, and kiss him once more.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

Jake starts for the door, but because he's nice, he pauses to nod to Edward. "Night."

Edward just inclines his head back stiffly.

And then Jake's gone.

Edward's still glaring—but at _me_ this time.

I just ignore him and turn my attention to my nails. I grab a file from the table and start to work on my long, perfectly oval red nails.

"He should just move in," Edward remarks, throwing his briefcase down rather violently on the foyer table. "For as much time as he spends over here."

"Maybe he could take the pool house if you ever manned up and moved in here," I reply coolly.

Edward isn't deterred by my comment. "Do you even like this guy?"

"Not like I like you," I say without a pause, looking up at him from beneath my lashes.

He scoffs and looks away sharply. He straightens a few picture frames on the table. "I was under the impression you were mad at me."

"I am. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"And how do you feel about me, Bella?" Edward's eyes meet mine again, and he's challenging, angry. "What is it about me that you like so much that you just _have _to have me? Is it just because I'm dating Renee? Is it because you want to get back at her?"

I sit the file down and stare at him levelly. "No. I like you because you're smart. I like you because you're handsome. I like you because you know what you want—and I usually have no clue what I want. I like you because you're ambitious, and I'm sorely lacking in that department. I like you because you're nice and generally caring. I like you because you remind me of an old movie star. Are those enough reasons?"

Edward looks away again, shaking his head. He doesn't know what to say so he stays silent.

And I push.

"What do you like about me?" I inquire sweetly.

"Nothing. You're a pain in the ass," he replies quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets, his jaw clenching.

I just smirk and stand slowly. I walk with perfect sway up to him. I grab at the end of his tie as I pass, letting the silky material slip through my fingers. "Come outside to smoke with me."

"I quit."

"Liar."

"Don't start this again," Edward warns.

"I don't think it ever really stopped, do you?"

He pulls his tie from my grasp, and I smile playfully. But he isn't smiling at all. "Go to bed, Bella."

I just roll my eyes at him. "Fine. Goodnight." And then I flounce away, but not before peeping over my shoulder at him. He's staring at my ass, and I catch him. My smile reappears.

And he just shakes his head and sighs.

* * *

**I forgot to mention the dress Bella wore last chapter was inspired by a real dress that I have a link to in my profile. If you're just curious ;) Thank y'all for reading so far! I love y'all! Y'all are so sweet. **

**Next chapter, Edward's gonna be pushed a little more. So stay tuned if you wanna ;)**


	19. Chapter 19

**So I've been thinking, and we're probably getting close to the end of this story by now. I'm thinking at most 30 Chapters. ;)**

**Special shout out to VampiresHaveLaws again for just being the best ever and being so hilarious.**

**"I've been waiting on your love/ Baby, for too long now/ ...It's gonna backfire/ It's gonna backfire, baby." -as if y'all don't know.**

* * *

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

It isn't as if I'm made of stone.

I do feel sorry for Jake some days. I barely like him, yet I'm letting him take me out almost every day; letting him buy me dinner and stupid little gifts. Really, he's a distraction. But on my more vindictive days, he's also a way to make Edward jealous.

Tonight, however, I don't feel sorry for him at all.

He is a boy, after all. And he wants what all boys are always hounding after. It's repulsive, really. It makes me want to roll my eyes and call him pathetic. But instead, I simply say, "Take me home."

"Bella," Jake whines, leaning away from me.

I give him one look. It's all it takes. And then he's starting the engine of his car, and we're speeding back towards the house.

I'm not an idiot. I know what the boys think of me. They think because I'm friends with Rose, I'm easy, too.

But I am _not_ easy.

I am not letting a boy have his way with me due to some sense of obligation. Just because I'm dating Jake—just because he gives me things—does not mean I owe him sexual favors.

The longer I think about it, the madder I get.

So when we're pulling into my driveway, I hop out before the car has fully stopped. And then I slam the door as hard as I can, cutting him off mid-apology.

"Idiot," I say under my breath and stomp up to the front door of the house.

I go inside, tossing my keys onto the foyer table. I pull my hair out of its elegant bun and look down at myself, at my teal, very Audrey dress, and make a face. I can't believe I wasted a pretty dress on Jake. I can't believe I even get dressed up for him at all.

He probably doesn't even know who Grace Kelly is.

* * *

"This is Edward when he was twelve," Esme says, showing me the picture with a melting smile.

In the photograph, Edward has a basketball in his hands. He's grinning mischievously to the camera, and his hair is floppy and long, hanging into his sparkling green eyes.

"He's so cute," I reply.

"Wasn't he, though?" Esme looks down at the picture herself, her happiness overflowing. "He was my little angel. I probably let him get away with too much back then. But he could do no wrong in my eyes."

I smile, leaning against the bookshelf slightly as Esme picks up a new picture.

"Now, this one is when he was in college—sophomore year, I think."

She shows it to me.

And I almost betray my infatuation with a sigh.

The mischievous grin remains the same, just on a young man instead of a little boy. Edward's all college boy cool. He's a backwards hat and a plain T-shirt and arms that are too perfectly muscled. He's sitting on a boat dock beside Carlisle, who has his head thrown back in laughter. Edward's eyes dance with an intensity forever captured on the paper.

"He was making fun of me when I took this picture," Esme says.

"Hence the grin," I murmur.

Esme laughs delightedly. "Yes. Hence Carlisle's hysterics."

"Don't you have any embarrassing pictures?" I ask.

Esme pokes me in the side playfully. "Oh, I wish. Edward was always very photogenic—I'm still a bit jealous. This was his high school picture—probably the only one close to embarrassing." She points to the frame on the shelf.

Edward is wearing a suit and tie—obviously a school picture. If I was expecting something hilarious, I'm disappointed. He's handsome, of course, even though he looks two seconds away from falling asleep—or cursing the photographer. His face is the model of bored high school students everywhere.

"He hated pictures," Esme explains. "The two I showed you a minute ago were ones where I caught him off guard."

I stare at the picture a moment longer. He was in high school—my age. Lots of things dance through my mind, the first being that he looks hardly a day older now, only a bit more mature with a new haircut. And then I wonder what he was like. I wonder if I would have liked him then as much as I do now. What if I had met him at one of the parties Rose dragged me to? What if he was like Jake?

But the answer to the last question is no.

I know he wasn't ever like Jake, not even when he was at his most immature.

"Mrs. Cullen? Dinner is ready," the maid says, appearing inside the doorway of the huge library.

"Thank you, Marie. We'll be there momentarily," Esme says, wrapping a warm, light arm around my shoulders.

Renee finally comes back into the room, then. She's apologizing for having to answer her phone—but it was museum business and it just couldn't wait.

I barely make eye contact with her.

In this moment, I can't stand her.

* * *

"So. Renee tells me you have a boyfriend," Esme says when we're all seated at the Cullens' fancy dinner table.

My eyes dance to Edward briefly.

He's stabbing at his salad.

I look back to Esme and grin a little. "I do."

Her face lights up with the sweetest smile. "Tell us about him, sweetie! Is he cute? I bet he's cute."

"He is," I say, nodding. "He's very cute. He's tall, too."

Esme waggles her brows playfully. "What's his name?"

"Jacob Black," I reply.

"What does his family do?" Carlisle asks cheerily as he cuts up his steak.

"Runs a car shop," Edward says and then snorts.

"Edward," Esme says reproachfully.

Renee just laughs before taking a small sip of wine. "Edward has taken an immediate dislike to Jacob."

"_Why_?" Esme asks, looking at her son curiously.

Edward opens his mouth to explain, and I can't wait to hear what he has to say. But Renee cuts in again with, "I think just because he's dating Bella. Edward's so protective over her. It's sweet."

Esme's laugh sounds gently. "Well, Edward always has been a bit overprotective."

"That's your fault, dear," Carlisle chimes in jovially. "You've hovered over him so much he doesn't know anything else."

Esme simply rolls her eyes. She reaches out across the table and puts her hand over Edward's. Her smile burns so bright. "That's simply what a good mother does," she says softly.

* * *

Edward and Renee are already outside, heading towards the car.

But I hang back.

I simply have to ask Esme something.

"Why?" I say to her quietly as we stand in the doorway of their giant home.

"Why what, sweetheart?"

"Why are you so accepting of us? Of Renee?" I truly am baffled. Esme's behavior goes beyond polite acceptance. She has pulled us into the family. She treats us like we belong, like we always have. It's as comforting as it is unnerving.

Esme looks out, watching as Renee grabs hold of Edward's hand as they walk. "Edward's always had a hard time, Bella. I used to think sometimes he was afraid to grow up, the way he always got into trouble and things. The way he always needed me or Carlisle. I guess I'm just glad he's found someone to take care of him. I think he's glad, too."

As the words sink in, I realize there's nothing left to say but goodnight. So I do, and Esme hugs me and kisses me and lets me go.

I spend the next thirty minutes in the back seat of the car while Edward drives and Renee clutches on to his hand, still. I can see their intertwined fingers perfectly as they rest on the center console of the car, the moonlight shining in from the windshield, illuminating the sight that hurts me so.

* * *

"I have to go to bed," Renee says with a yawn as we walk into the house. "I'm so tired."

"Okay," Edward replies.

"Goodnight," she tells him, leaning up on her tiptoes.

He bends down the rest of the way to kiss her—but on the cheek. I think she was expecting something else, but her face only falters a moment as he says, "Night."

"I love you, baby," Renee tells me, kissing my forehead.

"Love you, too," I say quietly.

And then she disappears, like she always does.

Edward's leaning against the foyer wall tiredly, pulling at his tie, watching me with sleepy eyes as I bend down to take my heels off. When I straighten back up, our eyes meet silently.

We stare for a few seconds.

And when my heart starts to flutter in hopeful excitement, I simply walk away from him, into the living room.

He follows me, though. "Want to watch a movie?"

I freeze. And then so slowly, I peep over my shoulder at him. I don't see any traces of insincerity in his face, not even in his sparkling eyes. "No," I announce and start for the stairs.

"Then what do you want to do?" he asks. "Swim? Go outside and smoke?"

I've climbed two steps before I have to stop and turn back around to face him. "I thought you quit."

"I lied," he returns effortlessly. He's right in front of me, leaning against the banister and looking up at me with hypnotic eyes. I'm just a bit taller than him on the stairs.

"What are you doing?" I ask with narrowed eyes.

"I don't know," is his quiet answer. He keeps looking up at me. There's something like surrender on his face. Like he's so tired he's given up. Then a look of hesitation passes over his features and he asks, point-blank but so soft, "Are you sleeping with him?"

"Like you're sleeping with my mom?" I challenge.

"I haven't. Not in a while. Not since you came back," Edward says and looks down at the hands he has resting atop the banister.

"Is it because of me?"

"What the hell do you think?" He looks back up sharply and there's familiar fire in his eyes.

This is the way I like him.

So I push to keep the fire burning, to keep him from lapsing back into tired words and soft defeat. "I don't know. Why don't you just give me an answer?"

Edward's jaw clenches. The muscles there feather and flex, and I can see the war behind his eyes. I can see the hesitation, the battle between telling me and staying quiet. And finally, he loses, but not without fury. "Yes, it's because of you, Bella."

Inside, I glow. Outside, I keep my face neutral-cool

.

Edward leans towards me, lowering his voice so Renee won't hear the so very wrong things he's about to say. "Of course it's you. You're driving me fucking crazy. You've got me so fucked-up, Bella. I don't even know why I'm with Renee anymore."

"Maybe because you shouldn't be with her. Maybe you should be with someone else," I offer.

"Like who?" he snaps. "You?"

"I have a boyfriend," I respond and turn to go up the steps—leave him stewing in his barely repressed anger.

But his hand is grabbing my arm and he's jerking me back, pulling me safely to the ground. And then he's backing me up until I'm hitting the wall sharply. I stare up at him with a trapped breath in my lungs and angry eyes.

"Don't fuck with me," he says, his fingers holding my upper arms so tightly that it hurts, and I'm spinning.

"What are you going to do?" I challenge hotly. "Kiss me and then say, 'Oops, sorry'?"

He hauls me up, and my tiptoes barely touch the ground.

I'm nothing but fluttering heartbeat.

And Edward's leaning in close like he will kiss me after all. But when his lips just barely ghost over mine—when his dark eyes are my whole, breathless world—he whispers, "What do you want me to do to you?"

Each word he speaks is a gentle kiss, and I am swaying vision and a pulse that will never slow again.

I am a butterfly-filled stomach and starry eyes.

And I am trying so desperately not to give into him—not this easily, not this soon.

Because I _am not_ a pushover.

But in the end, Edward's cell phone chimes, cutting into our lust with a shrill of reality, and I don't have to fight desire.

Edward drops me back to the ground. He backs away, running his hands through his hair quickly. He finds his phone. Reads whatever text message he's just gotten. And then says, "I have to go."

"Fine." I walk away from him, and I don't look back, not even as he hesitates to leave.

* * *

I bounce into the brightly-lit kitchen where Edward and Renee are making ice cream sundaes.

"Hey, sweetie," Renee says, smiling over at me with natural elegance.

Edward refuses to look at me—which is expected after last night's lapse of control.

"Can Jake stay over late tonight?" I ask, even though I don't really need to. Jake's stayed over late plenty of nights before. But I just feel like rubbing salt into Edward's wounds.

"Of course," Renee replies, kissing my temple. "Edward and I will just stay in here—to give you privacy." She winks dramatically.

Edward sighs extra loud.

Renee swats at his rear. "Don't be so stuffy, darling. Don't tell me you weren't having fun with your girlfriend at this age."

"Yeah, but my mother never endorsed it," Edward mutters darkly.

I just smile at Renee and dodge back out of the kitchen, into the darkness of the living room.

The TV is still paused on _Rear Window_—the movie Jake isn't really watching and the one I've watched a million times before to admire Grace Kelly and her famous dress.

I plop down on the couch next to Jake. "You can stay."

"Sweet," he says, because he says sweet all the time. Then he smacks a kiss to my cheek.

I'm barely concealed annoyance as I turn the movie back on.

It only takes Jake a few minutes to try to sneak his hand under my dress.

"Jake," I warn.

He just sighs.

And then thirty minutes later, Renee is calling out from the foyer, "I have to go to the museum! One of the janitors broke something, apparently! I'll be back later!"

"Okay!" I call back.

"Love you!"

"Love you, too," I reply, but she slams the door before my reply can reach her.

As soon as the sound echoes through the house, Jake is twisting on the couch and kissing my neck. He runs his finger over my collar bones—which is just his way of preparing to dip lower and feel me up.

"Edward's in the other room," I whisper in protest.

"We'll just be quiet," is Jake's simple, completely boy response.

I grimace as he puts his hand under my dress again. "Jake, no. I don't want to. I want to watch the movie—"

"Please, Bella?" he pleads, pulling down the strap of my dress to kiss my shoulder. "Please? We've been going out, like, a whole month."

"What a record-setter," I reply dully, but inside I'm slight panic because he still hasn't removed his hand from beneath my dress. It rests against my thigh, inching up dangerously. "Jake, really. I want you to stop."

"Are you frigid or something?" he groans against my neck.

"I'm just allergic to pushy assholes, I guess." And then I've had enough. I push at his arm.

"Come on," he says. "It's not a big deal. It's not like we even have to do everything tonight."

"I don't want to do _anything_ tonight," I say, and I'm two seconds away from calling for Edward.

"Yeah, well, you never want to do anything—on any night."

"Jake—"

The room gets flooded with light.

Jake immediately backs off. He jerks away and pretends to be so innocently watching the movie as Edward comes into view, ice cream bowl in hand.

"You guys don't mind if I sit and watch the movie, too, right?" Edward falls into the couch opposite ours before we even give him the okay.

I don't have one ounce of the will I need to shoot him a dirty look, even if it's what he expects. I just feel relieved.

"No way, man," Jake says, although he's more than disappointed.

"Thanks, _man_." Edward smiles tightly, condescendingly, propping his sock-clad feet up on the coffee table.

"So you're, like, a lawyer, right?" Jake asks, completely ignoring the movie now.

I sigh and hit the stop button since no one seems to give a flying fuck about it except me.

Edward's smile is like a knife. "Right."

"Must be pretty sweet." Jake rests his hands lazily on his stomach.

Edward almost blanches at the terminology. "Oh, yeah. The sweetest."

Jake nods awkwardly a few times, finally picking up on Edward's hostility. Thick silence descends, and Jake—being a complete idiot, as usual—tries to fill it. "So… you're dating Bella's mom, huh?"

"Yep." Edward's looking at Jake with unwavering eyes.

It's making him so uncomfortable.

I sigh with the tiredness of it all. Edward won't do anything else but subtly make Jake miserable. So I stand up. "Excuse me," I say and go to the bathroom.

I'm only gone for a few minutes.

But when I come back, everything is different.

Edward's standing up, eyebrows arched in anger and his hands balled up into shaky fists. And Jake's red faced underneath his tan, looking dumbfounded and pissed.

"Dude, what the hell?" he's demanding.

"Get out," Edward says almost dismissively, as if Jake's nothing more than an unwanted dog he's trying to shoo away.

"What is your fucking problem?" Jake cries, leaping to his feet.

"My fucking problem?" Edward mocks, his face nothing but sarcasm. "My fucking problem is you—or haven't I made that clear?"

Jake notices me hovering.

So I quickly bite my lip to hide my smile.

"Bella! Do something about this guy!" Jake says, motioning to Edward.

"She's not the adult here. She has no say." Edward shakes his head and then briefly points to the door. "Out."

"What the hell did I do?" Jake yelps.

"You're an inarticulate, crude little shit, and you get on my nerves. There. That's what you did. Leave." Edward's shaking a little.

"Bella?" Jake tries.

But I stay silent.

I'm all perfectly rehearsed horror and shock and helplessness.

Jake isn't swayed by it, though. He just glares flatly and says, "You are both freaks. I've had enough of your shit, too, Bella. We're through." He says it like it's a punch, like it'll cripple me, and then he's gone, marching out of the house and slamming the door extra hard behind him.

There's a beat of silence.

And then I look over at Edward sourly. "He just broke up with me. Are you happy?"

Edward stares at me for a moment, and I expect made-up lines and his head to start shaking; the excuses to start flowing. But instead, he simply says, "Yes."

* * *

**Until next time, pretty people. oxoxox**


	20. Chapter 20

**Sorry for the delay! But two chapters will be posted today! :) Also, this chapter starts off exactly where Chapter 19 left off.**

**"Like a light I'm/ Luring you/ Sneak up on you, really quiet/ Whisper 'Am I what your heart desires?'"**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

He realizes the consequences of his admission a little too late.

I can see the regret flash in his eyes.

Then he's trying to get away. "I have to get up early tomorrow," he says, and starts for the French doors.

I should let him escape.

I shouldn't keep chasing.

But I can sense he's close to breaking, which makes me want to push even harder.

I want him more than I've ever wanted anything.

Maybe it's because he really is a nice guy. Maybe it's because he's movie-star handsome. Maybe it's because he's smart. Maybe it's because I want to hurt Renee. Maybe it's a thousand different reasons.

Or maybe it's just because when I'm with him, I feel less lonely. I feel what it might be like to be really happy, and just having a taste of that isn't enough. I want it all. I want everything from him, which is ironic.

Because he can give me so little.

Yet I still hear myself say, "No." And then I'm jogging after him and reaching out to grasp at his arm.

I only manage to catch the sleeve of his shirt.

When I was little, the Chief took me to the zoo. It got really crowded, and I was so small. I remember seeing my teeny-tiny hand reach out in desperation to grab on to one of his big, warm fingers. I held on for dear life so I didn't get lost in the crowd of strangers.

This motion is almost the same.

It's just as panicked and afraid.

"No, Edward," I say.

"Bella, really. I have to go to sleep. I have work in a few hours." He pries my fingers free and kind of throws my hand back at me.

It makes tears well up in my eyes, but he's got his back to me. He doesn't notice.

He pushes open the doors, and that's when I realize it's raining outside—big, heavy drops that slant with the violent wind.

He walks right out into it without pause because he wants to get away from me so badly.

And I follow him, because I can't let him get away.

"Edward, wait!" I call out loudly to be heard over the storm.

"Get back in the house," he snaps, glaring at me briefly. He's rain-drenched, and so am I. Water droplets run down his pretty face like tears. "Jesus Christ," he mutters, opening the guesthouse door.

I expect him to slam the door on me once he's inside.

But he doesn't.

He holds it open for me, his features still set with anger, but he's waiting. He's waiting for me to come inside because he doesn't want me standing out in the middle of one of the worst summer storms we've had yet.

So I run in.

"You should really get back to the house. It's not—" He's already starting his riot act.

But I cut in hotly. "Shut up."

Edward's brows rise in barely contained surprise.

Under different circumstances, I might find it amusing, but right now, I'm nothing but desperation and tiredness. I point up at him angrily. "Don't expect me not to get my hopes up. Not when you say you're happy my boyfriend broke up with me. Not when you kiss me. Not when you say sweet things to me."

"Get your hopes up?" he demands, snapping back at me. He throws his arms a little and water droplets fly all over the hardwood. "Get your hopes up for what exactly?"

I blink harshly, releasing the quivering raindrops from my lashes. They run down my cheeks and streak my mascara.

"What the hell do you want from me?" He's yelling so loud my eardrums strain.

But my heart soars.

Then he's grabbing my arms. He's shaking me.

Water's everywhere.

So is heat.

"What can I possibly give you?" His fingers dig so roughly into my skin, but it feels good. The pain is a sharp slap of pleasure. "Nothing! I can't give you anything!" He releases me with a gentle shove.

I glare at him.

But he keeps going. "God, Bella, you're driving me fucking insane." Looking away, he runs his hands through his hair, leaving wet, messy spikes behind. He wipes at the water on his face. He paces. He's all jerky movements and agitated breaths. "You're so young, Bella. You're so fucking young. You don't even know what you want, for Christ's sake."

"I want you."

He halfway moans, running his hands over his face again. "Don't say shit like that to me. You don't know what you're asking for."

"Do you take me for a total idiot?" I seethe. "Do you think I can't make up my own mind?"

"I don't think you've thought any of this through!" he shouts. But I don't flinch. Hot green eyes find mine and refuse to let go. "You don't give a fuck about anything but what you want, Bella… what you think you want. But you don't understand. I have a job I love. I have everything I've ever thought I wanted. And I could lose it all."

"I'm seventeen. It's the legal age of consent in New York."

"I'm aware of the fucking law, Bella." He's still glaring. "But imagine how it would look. You're the kid daughter of my girlfriend. And you were only sixteen when we met."

I just shake my head angrily—stubbornly. I think I'm crying because some of the water streaming down my cheeks is too warm.

"What do you fucking want from me?" His hand flies out and knocks over one of the lamps. It falls from the table in slow motion, shattering loud enough to make both of us wince—yet neither one of us flinch. "You have to know there's nothing I can give you. I could never take you out on a date. I could never bring you to my parents. I couldn't even tell anyone about you."

I am crying. I know it for a fact now.

I am hopeless, silent tears as I stand and watch him list out reasons, as I listen to him break my heart a little more with each word.

Edward walks forward. He grabs my arms again, but this time more gently. His eyes are ablaze like never before when he says, "I could fuck you, Bella. But that's it. That's all I could do to you. You deserve more than that."

I make a sound of disgust and push at his arms, making him release me. "Oh, please. I don't deserve anything. I don't deserve you or any decent guy. Don't lie to me to try to make me feel better."

"Bella… you aren't as terrible as you think you are," he says.

I turn my back to him and walk towards the bookshelf where the picture of his mother with the extraordinary smile sits. I want to be her. I'd trade beauty for a genuine smile.

"Yes, I am," I reply quietly. "You don't know me. You never will."

Edward sighs, and then he's behind me. I can feel him gently touch my wet hair, playing so innocently with the ends of the strands. Then, where my sundress dips down so low, I feel his knuckles just barely skim the bare skin of my back.

It's not as innocent.

It makes me shiver with heat. It makes me turn around and look up at him.

He looks pained, torn, conflicted, upset—everything. He's beautiful and rain-soaked. He's a prince. He's proud but broken. "What do you want me to do, Bella?" he asks, purely agonized. His hands come up, trying in vain to swipe away all the eye makeup I can feel on my cheeks. His touch is warm and comforting and steady, and I lean into it and close my eyes. "Just tell me what you want from me."

"You," I say simply. I open my eyes again to find his gaze. "I just want you."

Edward's face twists in agonized indecision.

I lean forward and grab the front of his soaking wet shirt, balling the fabric between my desperate hands. I stand on my tiptoes; I can barely reach his chin, so I kiss him there. I kiss his jaw. I kiss his bottom lip, his neck, his Adam's apple. "I want you, I want you, I want you."

He groans quietly, and the sound is all confliction and barely reined in desire.

And then he gives in.

His hands reach out, trapping my face between his big, warm palms, and then his lips fall against mine, hot and sudden and demanding.

My back strikes against the bookcase with his force, and my heart pounds with delirious fever all over my body, even in my fingertips.

All at once he's rough and gentle, hard and soft, taking and giving. His hands are everywhere: ghosting over my arms, squeezing my hips, pulling my hair, skimming down my neck, slipping beneath my dress to touch my legs.

I crush myself to him until there's no space between us; until I can barely breathe, because that's what I need. I need to be close. I need to feel close. My chest aches for it. My body craves it. And my heart beats extra hard for it.

He jerks down the straps of my dress sharply, making me kind of gasp, and then his lips are hot on my shoulders, on my collarbones, and lower. He skims his lips everywhere, even over the tops of my breasts where my lower-cut dress begins.

My fingers weave into his wet hair, twisting and pulling at the strands, silently thrilling that I can touch him this way, that he's touching me this way.

This is what high feels like.

"Take it off," Edward mumbles against my neck, tugging gently at the dress.

So I push his hands away and replace them with mine. I grab the hem and start lifting. I look up at him, but he's staring at the inch-by-inch of new skin I'm showing him. I can feel the pound of my heart in my throat.

And then I slowly pull the dress over the top of my head.

It drops to the ground softly.

Edward's looking at me—at my violet lace bra and panties. He takes his time, really looking, because he never could before.

He still can't now, not really.

His eyes flicker up to meet mine beneath his lashes.

I smile at him.

He doesn't smile back, though. He just kisses me again. He steals my breath, but I give it gladly. His hands are roaming over exposed skin—skin he's never felt before—and his touch is so, so good.

I bite his lip.

"Mm," he exhales with a soft grunt as he slams me back into the bookshelf again, this time with his body, this time a lot harder.

I can feel him hard against my stomach, beneath his black slacks. It makes me tremble. But maybe I was already trembling. I don't know.

I'm nothing but dazed thoughts and victory.

Edward's hands fall down until he's grabbing my ass, squeezing, making me gasp and giggle against his insistent lips. It finally earns the smallest of smiles from him, but then it's gone, and he's lifting me up. My legs wrap around his waist instinctually, hugging him so, so close.

He's walking, and when I think to open my eyes, we're in his bedroom.

We fall onto the bed. It's without warning and it makes me gasp again. Then he's rolling on top of me, his kisses frantic and hungry—and I'm kissing him back the same way.

I'm undoing the buttons of his shirt with shaky fingers. He's unbuckling his belt with trembling hands. And then his shirt is gone and I'm pushing his slacks down with my feet until he kicks out of them

.

As soon as it's done, he's pushing my legs apart and rocking his hips down.

I feel my heart wanting to break out of my chest. I feel my pulse hammering. I feel my blood rushing. And all I can do is smile against his lips and sigh.

He's so hard, and I'm so soft. And he's right where he needs to be, rocking against my center. My own hips circle, lift, shift—all instinctually, all while my mind hazes over and my sighs turn to whimpers.

Edward's hands are beneath me, unclasping my bra. And then the lacy fabric is gone before I can blink, and his chest is against me, hard and warm against my soft and hot.

He kisses my neck. And then the kisses turn into bites that sting and thrill.

I'm writhing, shivering, shaking, rocking and rolling with him.

He's kissing lower now, his lips heavenly fire against my skin. He kisses my nipples, then he sucks, then he bites, and then he's gone.

He's kneeling back, grabbing my panties, pulling them down—not slow and sweet, just swift and lustily.

That's when I realize I have nothing on. I'm completely, totally bare to him. He can see everything, and it's a little scary, but then he lies on top of me, kissing me again, and I forget.

"Oh, fuck, Bella," he breathes against my mouth. He's so restless, and so I am. We're constant shifting and circling and movement and brief kisses and digging fingers and quick, panted breaths.

I bite his lip again. He groans.

And then he's moving a little and I feel his hand between my legs, touching me where I'm so ready and willing. He pushes a finger inside gently, and then he adds another. All I can feel is pleasure, so it's all I think, too.

"Edward," I cry out softly, feeling knots twist tighter in my stomach.

He's propped on one elbow, looking down at where his hand moves and parts and touches so expertly. And then he's looking at me, his eyes desire-darkened and dazzled. He gives me this breathless half smirk, and I shake. I tremble.

His fingers move faster, in and out, and it's crazy good and surreal.

"Let go, baby," Edward tells me, his lips ghosting over my temple. "Let go for me."

His touch gets rougher, more demanding, more insistent. The pleasure builds and keeps twisting until it's almost unbearable, until it's almost too much, too much good.

But then I come, and it's beautiful, pure-white pleasure rushing all over me, all through my desire-stiffened limbs and my burning lungs.

I suck in a breath and let out a quiet moan, my heart hammering with thick satisfaction.

Edward's lips are on mine again before I can catch my breath. "Are you on birth control?" he asks, his voice fractured.

It's such a sudden question that it almost throws me, and it takes me a few seconds too many to respond. "Yes."

He nods disjointedly, already looking between us as he pushes his boxers down. I look, too, because I'm curious.

It's not finally seeing him—all of him—that wakes me up from the dream. It's watching him stroke himself and line himself up.

Everything tumbles down then. Feeling him against me is reality. It's real, and what we're going to do is permanent.

He pushes inside, just a little—just the tip—but I already feel pressure.

He pushes in farther, harder this time, and it hurts a little. I bite down on my bottom lip, but Edward doesn't see because his face is in my neck, and he's breathing so, so hard, and that's so, so hot.

He never pauses. He just thrusts again, and this time, he's all the way. His trembling stomach is pressed so tightly against mine. He's all the way inside. All the way, just like that, in less than a full minute, and it's so strange and kind of painful but it's good, too.

Edward groans, his voice muffled by the pillow and my hair. His whole body shivers.

He leans back up on his elbows, his forehead falling against mine, and he pulls back only to thrust in again, without mercy.

He doesn't think I'm a virgin.

It's why he's being so rough.

He'd stop if I told him the truth. I know him well enough to know he would. He'd stop and worry and fret over it. He'd feel guilty. But I want him to be happy. I want him to feel good like he made me feel good. And I want this with him. I want it so bad. It's all I want.

He kisses my lips once, softly, and it's enough to keep me from crying.

* * *

When it's over, he pulls out and lies beside me.

We're both breathing hard and staring up at the dark ceiling of his bedroom.

It feels strange, not like I thought it would.

When I shift my legs a little, I can't help but wince.

I must make some sound because Edward looks over at me. "Did I hurt you?" he asks, and the concern in his voice almost makes me want to weep.

That's silly, though.

I don't weep over silly things.

I just shake my head and murmur, "It's okay. Just a little."

Edward turns his head and looks back up at the ceiling. I should have lied because now I know he's thinking. He's thinking and piecing everything together, and when he says, "Bella," he says it slowly and with dawning realization.

I stay silent as he forms the rest of his question.

"Bella, were you a virgin?"

I'm embarrassed and hurting and trapped in this strange, halfway real world. I don't want to say yes aloud. It's too vulnerable.

But he takes my silence as all the answer he needs.

He sits up sharply and covers his face with his hands. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demands, looking over at me, his face torn apart by guilt, just like I knew it would be. Now his dream world is crashing down, too, and unwelcome reality is sneaking back in.

"Because I thought you'd stop."

"God, Bella," Edward moans, running his hands over his face, looking away as if the sight of me kills him. "I wouldn't have been so fucking rough with you."

"You wouldn't have done anything with me, if you'd known."

"I shouldn't have done anything with you period," he says.

I feel my pulse pick up with heartbreak.

"I can't believe we did this. I can't fucking believe it," he murmurs under his breath, shaking his head, covering his face.

His alarm clock goes off loudly beside the bed, making me jump and blink. A few tears spill over.

"Shit," he mutters, looking over at the time, slamming the snooze button. "I have to go. I have to go to work." He climbs out of bed, finding his boxers, yanking them on comically fast, as if it'll protect my pitiful innocence. He runs his hands through his hair and looks over at me, lost. "You… you should get out of here before Carmen comes in."

I nod.

Edward moves towards the bathroom, but he pauses, looking back at me. He's torn all over again. I can see him wanting to comfort me. I can see him knowing he shouldn't. Finally, he just sighs and says, "I'm sorry."

That's all he knows to say.

And for once, I don't know how to say anything at all.

* * *

**Maybe not what some people were expecting. :/ Please don't be mad at me. Keep reading if you can! Oh, and by the way, so much love goes out to all the people that have stuck with me so far! **

**I know this has been a controversial topic, but thank you to the people that realize it's just a story and just for fun. It's always kind of nice to write about something that is so far removed from you world. **

**I realize these characters are very flawed, but everyone is flawed. I realize that these characters make mistakes that seem so obvious to us, but we also make mistakes that seem obvious to others. **

**The whole reason I wrote this was to have something fun to do, to explore a crazy topic, and to see if others would even READ my writing. So I really, really want to thank all of those people that have given me support or have had kind things to say or even had constructive criticism for me. It means so much!**

**Stay tuned. oxoxoxox**


	21. Chapter 21

**"You'd do good/ To move on." -Black Keys**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE**

I get out of bed and find my dress while Edward's taking a shower.

I leave the guesthouse and gingerly make my way back into the main house. The world is quiet with early morning, and everything is so soft and sweet and cheerful. It seems off now. It seems impossible for things to be the same as they were yesterday morning.

"Isabel?"

For the first time in years, I trip. I trip over the bottom step and barely catch myself on the railing. "Shit!" I yelp.

Carmen comes into the room with her purse and her wide brown eyes. "Isabel, what happened?"

"Oh, nothing. Nothing. You just, um, scared me." I tuck my messy hair behind my ears and hope I don't look as awful as I feel. She'll know something is wrong.

Because I'm _not_ smudged makeup and bed hair and wrinkled clothes.

She frowns, nothing but concern. "What's wrong, _nena_?"

The gentleness in her voice makes me want to tell her. Maybe she'll know why I feel so sick. Maybe she'll know why I feel hollow and _less_ than I did yesterday. Maybe she'll know why I feel all kinds of wrong, but I can't tell her.

And that just makes everything worse.

"Nothing," I say brightly, because even now I'm a perfect liar. "I'm just so tired. I couldn't sleep last night, so I went for a walk, and I just kept walking and walking and walking. I'm kind of regretting that decision now." I add a natural yawn.

Carmen smiles and shakes her head. "You should get more rest, Isabel. It's not good for body and soul."

"I know," I reply. "I'll go up and take a nap. I'll be fine." I smile.

* * *

I sit on the closed-lid toilet, bend over, and cry.

I let loose.

I cry and I cry and I cry until I think I'm going to throw up—those big, hiccupping, gasping sobs.

Everything hurts. Everything aches—even my heart—and I'm nothing but regret and sadness.

I should have listened to Edward.

I'm so fucking stupid.

* * *

"What do you mean?" Renee is screaming.

I hover at the top of the steps in my old pajama bottoms and a T-shirt of the Chief's that's too big and wash-faded, listening to the argument below.

"I can't do this anymore, Renee," Edward replies gently.

"Why, Edward? Why do you keep doing this to me?" she cries. "Why don't you give me a fucking reason _why_ you can't do this anymore?"

"I don't love you! You don't love me! That's reason enough!" Edward shouts back, losing his fragile calm.

"Both of us knew that going in, Edward. I remember you telling me that you didn't believe in love at first sight. You said, 'You have to work for love. It doesn't just happen.'"

"Well, I've been working on it for over a year, and you've been off half of that time in that goddamned museum, so I don't know what to tell you."

"This is about how much time I spend at the museum?"

They're both so loud that I know everyone in the house can hear; even those outside the house, too. The men moving Edward's things from the guesthouse are getting a good show to laugh about later—_look at the poor rich people, listen at how pathetic they are, all that money and not one ounce of happiness_—that's what they'll say.

"I thought we were on the same page about careers! I thought we were both okay with long hours, with having motivation!" Renee's voice is getting scratchy from all the screaming. "You work long hours, too! You slave at your office, too! Is the difference because I'm a woman?"

"The difference is you have a fucking kid!" Edward explodes. "She is so fucked-up, Renee, and you don't even see it. She's lonely. She's hurt. She's strong, but she's only as strong as a seventeen-year-old can be. She needs you, for Christ's sake. She needs you to give a shit, to know what's going on in her life!"

"I know what is going on in my daughter's life, Edward. Do not patronize me."

"You have no fucking clue, Renee," is Edward's tired response. "If you knew anything, you'd have done something to help her a long time ago."

"Help her? She doesn't need help! Bella is independent, she always has been—"

"She's independent because she has to be. How can you not fucking see that? Are you just that blind? You can't see a goddamned thing, not even the shit that's happening right under your nose!"

"Why does every argument we have revolve around Bella? Stop hiding behind her! I know my parenting skills aren't the real reason you're breaking up with me."

I can hear Edward sigh tiredly all the way from my listening spot. "It just shows me what kind of person you are, Renee. You're self-absorbed, you're shallow, and you're too involved in your own life. You're making your kid the exact same way. And I won't let you make me that way, too."

I ease down a few steps.

I catch Edward walking past the staircase. He pauses, looking up at me. He sees that I'm crying, but Renee can still see him, too. So he just shakes his head, just a little.

And I nod.

* * *

Life without Edward in the house is strange and empty, just the way I feel.

The summer seems dull, lifeless—and so do I.

Rose comes to visit. She tries to cheer me up. Then she tries to get me to spill why I'm being so boring, because she says I'm never, ever boring. But I can't tell and I wouldn't tell her anyway.

So she leaves.

I get a phone call from Alice.

She says the Chief is marrying Sue. She says he's adopting Sue's kids, too. He's getting a family, a real family like he deserves. I want to be happy for him, I really do, but it breaks my heart harder than anything ever has before—even more than Edward leaving.

I almost call the Chief.

But I don't, of course.

If I can't be happy for him, I certainly won't call him to drag up old memories and make him miserable. That's the right thing to do, I tell myself. It's the only consolation I have for being a sociopathic bitch, I guess.

If I'm fucked-up from the start, at least I can choose not to fuck other people up, too. Starting now, anyway.

* * *

Renee takes Edward's departure worse than I would have thought.

She stops going to the museum so much. She watches _It's A Wonderful Life _with me. I cry almost all the way through it because now that I've started crying, I can't seem to stop, and I hate it.

I really do.

I used to be the girl who didn't cry. I used to be the strong girl. I used to be Grace Kelly class and Audrey cool. I used to be red lipstick and high heels. I used to be a swaying walk. I used to be an old movie heroine.

And now, I don't know what I am.

Lost, I guess.

Because no old movie heroine ever fucked her mom's boyfriend. Grace Kelly would have _never_ done that.

* * *

"I'm sorry," I tell Renee one night as we're both watching-but-not-seeing _The Birds_.

"For what, honey?" Renee looks over at me, blinking like she's just woken up.

_For everything_, I want to say. _For fucking Edward. For making him leave you. For being a shitty person. For being a bad daughter. For being a burden._

But all I can do is shrug. The words get lodged in my throat.

And besides, I could never tell about Edward. It isn't just my secret to tell.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Renee says. It's supposed to be comforting, but it's like the constant knife in my stomach just gets twisted a little deeper.

I'm slowly bleeding to death.

Mom reaches over, hugs me close, and it feels so good, and I feel so guilty that I start to cry again.

"Oh, honey. Please. Don't be sorry," Mom urges, stroking my hair, kissing my forehead. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I've missed so much with you. I never wanted to be this way, Bella. I never did. And I know it's not an excuse, but sometimes it's like I just can't help it. It's like I can't control how selfish I am—like it's all just beyond me, you know?"

_I know. I know, I know, I know._

"I'm sorry, Bella. I'm the one who's sorry," she whispers into my hair.

I can't say anything. So I just keep crying.

* * *

"Alice."

"What's wrong?" my best friend asks immediately, concern crackling in her voice.

I'm closed eyes and darkness in the solitude of my room.

I wish more than anything that Alice was right here beside me, in my bed, and we were going to watch a movie and eat Cheetos and be glamorous-silly girls together.

"Alice, I fucked up," I whisper.

"What's wrong? Is this about the Chief, still? Look, Bells, he's happy. He really, really loves Sue. And he hasn't forgotten about you. He still has your picture on the mantel—that picture of you and him when you were in that pink princess dress."

I turn my head, open my eyes, and see the very same photograph on my bedside table. "This isn't really about him."

"Then, what?"

I sit up sharply, running my fingers through the tangled knots of my hair. "I can't tell you," I say flatly, but inside I'm all guilt and torment.

"Queen B, come on. You can tell me anything."

I chew on my bottom lip until it hurts. And then I sigh and say, "I lost my virginity."

"What? To who?" Alice demands.

I shake my head. "I can't tell you. That's the whole problem. I can't tell anyone, but I feel like I'm going to scream if I keep holding it in."

Alice is quiet for a moment, thinking, putting the mystery together. Then after only a few minutes—without judgment in her voice—she asks, "Is he married or something?"

"No. No, it's not that. But it might as well be," I mumble, rubbing at my eyes tiredly. It feels like there's sand in them.

"Oh, my God."

Alice's voice is all realization.

"Oh, shit. It's Edward. It's Edward, isn't it?" she asks, her voice so soft and gentle, so devoid of the disgust anyone else would have.

I can't answer her. This is wrong. But she's the only person I can talk to. She's so far away, in Washington, so far from New York where this secret could destroy Edward.

"I knew it," she murmurs. "I just had a feeling."

I lie back in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, wishing that I could take things back.

I'm all hopeless wishes lately.

Then Alice sighs and says, "Jasper and I had sex, too."

"What?" I ask, so surprised and maybe a little hurt—because she didn't call me to tell me. "When?"

"Just a few months ago." The springs on Alice's old bed squeak as she shifts. I remember that bed so well, sitting beneath the covers with our flashlights, reading our Nancy Drew books. The sound is a hit of nostalgia. "We're in love, too. I love him so much. But afterwards, Queenie? It was so sad. I just cried and cried. I didn't even know why. I guess it's because I've been a virgin seventeen years. It's weird, realizing you aren't anymore—that you're growing up. That's what my mom said, anyway, after I told her."

I roll over restlessly in my bed, burying my face in my pillow.

"So you're feeling sad over losing your virginity," Alice concludes. "But the guilt is times ten, though, because that's your mom's guy. That's all it is, Bells."

"It was wrong," I say hollowly. "Knowing _why_ I feel like shit doesn't make a difference."

"Sometimes if you know why, at least you can fix it."

"How can I fix this, Alice?" I mumble.

She pauses, her bright mind spinning and working. Then she says the thing I expect the least. "Do you love him?"

"What?" I ask, sitting up.

"Do you love him? It's a simple yes or no question, darling. Just answer. Don't think about it, just tell me."

"I don't know."

"Do enjoy being around him?"

"Yes—"

"Do you feel happy with him?"

"Yes, but—"

"If you'd just met him on the street, would things be different?"

"Well, of course," I murmur. "If I'd just met him someplace, I'd know him better. You know, like maybe I'd know silly things—like his favorite color."

"So what you're saying is, you don't really know him."

I blow out a quick sigh. "I suppose not."

"What do you know?"

I think. My mind turns slowly, glowing in old memories. I say, "I know that he's like one of those old movie stars—the kind who swoop in and save the day. He made me feel less lonely. He made me feel safe, but not too safe, and I kind of liked that."

"So the question is, if he wasn't your mother's man—if he was just some guy—would you go after him?"

I don't even have to think this time. I just say, "Yes."

"Then maybe this wasn't really a mistake. Maybe this was meant to be. Maybe you're soul mates or something. How romantic," she croons.

Her words sound hollow in my ears. It's how Alice may comfort herself, but it isn't comforting to me—not in the least. It was still wrong. I'm still ugly for what I did. I'm still not Old Hollywood, anymore. Maybe I never was.

I look with tear-dimmed eyes across the room and catch a glimpse of my reflection in my vanity mirror. I'm a messy bun and a red-blotted face and I look so far from graceful that I almost cry again.

I say to Alice, "I don't know who I am anymore."

"Oh, don't be dramatic, darling," Alice dismisses with a sniff.

"I don't. I thought I was elegance and class. I thought I was an old starlet trapped in a young body, but I'm not. I'm just a stupid teenager." My words are quiet and quick, breathless with heartbreak.

"Oh, shut up," Alice groans. Her bed squeaks again. She probably flopped back onto it and rolled her eyes. "Please don't be so melodramatic. You're the same girl you've always been, Bells. You're red lipstick and high heels and elegance and class and all that. You're an old soul. You just made a poor decision in the moment—but that poor decision doesn't change any part of you. And I'm going to hang up on you if you keep talking bullshit like that."

I smile—just a little. I think it's the first smile in a week.

I say, "Thanks, Patsy."

"You're welcome, Eddie."

* * *

**Next chapter will have a small section in Edward's POV! Just a reminder that at the end, this story will switch entirely to his POV. (:**


	22. Chapter 22

**"I need you so that I could die." -The Everly Brothers**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO**

I am red lips and a 1940s floppy hat. I am a white dress. I am demure. I am poise. And I am utterly myself.

It only takes a month for everything to become clear to me.

Achingly clear.

I miss Edward too much. I miss him, and I want him around again. I want him around so I can do things differently this time; so I can know his favorite color, so I can know his favorite band, his favorite movie.

I want him, _still_, even though he's no longer my mother's boyfriend.

But I can't have him.

I can try to make things better than they are now, though.

So I walk through the house, my heels clicking with beautiful familiarity against the hardwood floors.

"Isabel!" Carmen looks me up and down, her eyes wide and hopeful. "You look beautiful, _nena_."

I smile a little. "Thank you."

"What's the occasion?"

"I'm going into the city. I called a cab. It should be waiting outside—"

"You're going alone?" she cuts in with a frown. "Why?"

"Shopping, of course. What else would I be doing?" I shake my cute white clutch at her as I pass by.

"But shouldn't you wait until Miss Renee is home? The city is dangerous alone—"

"I'll be fine, Carmen, really. But if you don't hear from me, know I'm most likely being dismembered and thrown in the Hudson." I wink at her as I open the door.

Carmen's expression is pure exasperation. "_Dios mío!_"

* * *

I sashay into the building, but inside, I'm all nerves.

The elevator ride up to Edward's level feels like an eternity.

But then the doors are opening, and Tanya is standing there, surprise briefly lighting up her face.

"Bella! What are you doing here?" she asks.

I lie with ease. "I'm just here on my mother's behalf. She misses him. I thought maybe I could patch things up between them."

Tanya snorts. "Well, good luck with that. Edward's as stubborn as a bull. But go on in. Everyone's out to lunch, so I'll have to lock the door to the offices. Just get Edward to let you out."

"That's just fine," I say with a perfect smile.

* * *

I knock on his door lightly.

"Come in," he calls.

So I ease my way inside.

His office is as studiously disastrous as the last time I was here. Papers are scattered everywhere, and there's comfortingly familiarity in that. It almost makes me smile.

Edward's back is to me as he sits in his chair. He's got three cabinets open, all of them nearly overflowing with folders. I watch him flip through the files rapidly. "What is it, Tanya? Something else happen to our witness?"

"I wouldn't know," I say lightly.

He freezes up. But then he turns, so slowly, like he doesn't really want to see me—which I suppose he doesn't. Our eyes meet, and he's still so movie-star handsome, even with his hair longer and messier; beautifully unprofessional.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he whispers.

"It's okay," I say quietly. I drift over to his desk and sit my clutch down on the littered surface. "I'm not here to seduce you or to ask anything of you."

"Someone could have seen—" he starts.

But I shake my head. "Only Tanya. I told her I was here on Renee's behalf, trying to win you back."

"But you aren't." He doesn't sound sure if it's a question or not.

"That's the last thing I'd ever want," I say with a small laugh and carefully sit on the edge of a leather chair. Our eyes are level now.

"Then why are you here?" he asks, unable to mask his suspicion.

"To apologize, I guess." There's a bit of stiffness in my voice I can't seem to shake. I shift a little and smile tensely, pushing my curled hair over my shoulder delicately. "I'm sorry for everything I did. I'm sorry for tempting you, for making you abandon your morals, for making you feel guilty for something I pushed you into doing."

"Bella," he cuts in, shaking his head. "I made my own decisions—"

"Don't try to make this your fault," I interrupt, "because it isn't. Yes, you made a choice, but it was after months of invitations from me. You're only human, Edward. I should never have acted the way I did." Suddenly I can't look at him, him and his still honest face, so I glance down at the hands I have twisted together in my lap. "I wanted to have you, everything else be damned, and that wasn't right."

"So you're just here to make amends?" Edward asks, sounding shocked.

I nod silently.

"Bella… you're still a child. I'm the adult. I should never have let things get so out of hand—"

"Stop," I murmur, frowning up at him. "You act as if I'm a baby. But surely you remember what it's like to be a teenager? I may be young and act irrationally sometimes, but I'm already becoming my own person. I'm already finding my own beliefs. And I'm certainly capable of making big decisions. I made my decision. I wanted you. I still do."

Edward swallows heavily, looking away. "Bella—"

"I'm not trying to flirt with you anymore, Edward," I insist quickly—almost stubbornly. "I'm only trying to be honest with you, because I wasn't before. Not really. I like you. I really do. I wish we'd met at college or something so things could be different. But things aren't different. I realize that now. I realize how unavailable you are to me, but it still doesn't change how I feel."

Edward stands up. He walks around his desk and sits on the corner of it, staring down at me with those earnest eyes of his. "Where is all of this coming from? Is your mother finally being a parent to you or something?"

I sigh and shrug, looking back at my hands, watching as my red nails pick carefully at my dress. "She's trying. I suppose that's all I can ask from her."

"Then why the change of heart?"

"I realized how shallow and selfish I was. Growing up, I always said how much I didn't want to be like my mother, but I wasn't really doing anything to prevent myself from being just like her. I realized even though I thought I was mature, true maturity is understanding that those people on the silver screen—they're not real. They're just actresses playing a part. And they were just as screwed up as the rest of us." I look up at Edward so he can see the sincerity in my eyes. "And I realized, too, that no matter how awkward or silly or cliché I might feel, apologizing to you is the only way to halfway right the wrongs I did."

Edward inhales deeply and looks over to his overfilled bookshelves. "I didn't need an apology, Bella."

"You deserved one," I say simply and stand. With him perched on the desk's edge, we're the same height. "I'll leave now."

Then he gets to his feet, too, and he's skyscraper tall again, looking down at me. "You're more mature than I gave you credit for."

"Well, it's new-found maturity," I reply wryly. "Let's hope I can hold on to it."

Edward offers a brief half grin, sliding his hands into his pockets. "I'm sure you can."

I smile a little and then pause. I'm staring up at him, and he's close enough to make my heart grow restless. And then I force my eyes to his tie and whisper, so hesitantly, "Would you kiss me? Just one more time."

"Bella—"

"I'm not trying to be difficult," I assure him, shaking my head. "Really, I promise. It's just that I'll probably never see you again."

I know he'll say no. I just have this feeling, and the disappointment is already blooming inside me.

But then I hear his sigh and I realize I'm wrong.

He leans in.

And hits my hat.

I look up at him and smile, and he kind of exhales a quiet laugh before reaching up and gently taking it off me. He sits the hat on his desk, taking his time—stalling, maybe—before looking back at me.

I want to close my eyes—savor in the anticipation and commit this moment to memory so that maybe one day, when my inspiration returns to me, I can write about it and keep it alive forever.

But I can't shut my eyes, not when I'm staring into Edward's.

He's kind of hesitant—almost nervous—and the way he bites his lip a little, the way he frowns so slightly is beautiful to me.

Then his hands are on my face. His thumbs rest against my jaw, and his fingers are warm and familiar against my neck. His touch is thrilling and dizzying, and he hasn't even kissed me.

He leans in again, and this time, nothing gets in his way.

Our lips touch so carefully, so barely-there and teasingly. But he puts a little more pressure behind them, and then our mouths press together like we belong, like we've done this a thousand times before, so there's no need to rush.

The kiss is languorous-sweet.

The kiss is the slowest one we've ever had—the least desperate, the most precious.

Then he's pulling me closer, and he's kissing me like they do in the old movies: arms embracing, lips slowly burning and impassioned, breaths shared, and hearts beating in time with each other.

It's the kind of kiss I've always wanted. I guess it's the kind of kiss everyone wants, deep down.

Edward's lips break from mine, but then he's kissing me everywhere, quick and hot and needy. He's kissing my jaw, my nose, my eyelids, my temples, my chin. He's everywhere, and he's shaky breaths and a tightening grip on my waist.

He says in my ear, just a low groan of pained words, "I want you, too. God, I want you so much."

The words send shivers down my spine and fire into my body. I grasp at his arms, smiling with my eyes closed as he kisses down my delirious pulse. I turn my head and whisper into his hair, "Then have me."

Edward shivers, his whole body all against me.

My hand moves over his chest as he breathes such hot, quick air against my neck. My touch goes lower and lower, across his tense stomach, down to where he's so hard.

"Fuck," he says, but not out loud. I feel it mouthed against my skin.

I watch my hands push against his chest. I back him up until he's against one of the many bookshelves in the office.

My heart is reminding me how it beats when he's near. It's reminding me I'm alive by making my whole body throb with its rhythm. And I think it realizes what I'm planning to do before my brain does.

I look down, away from Edward's dark, dark eyes. I look at my hands, thinking surely they'll tremble as they reach for his belt—but they don't. They're steady and calm and I have no trouble pulling the buckle apart. I don't fumble with the zipper, either.

"Bella…" Edward starts, but he never finishes.

I touch him through his boxers. His hands reach back, gripping the edge of a shelf tightly. I see his knuckles turn white. It gives me the confidence to push the boxers down.

"Fuck," he says, and it's louder this time.

I look down again, watching my hand move slowly. He feels good—so hard and hot but the skin is so smooth. I push the untucked material of his dress shirt up so I can watch as his stomach muscles clench and tighten and shift as I touch him.

He starts thrusting gently into my hand like he can't even help it.

I am growing self-assuredness and relief.

I can do this to him. I can make him grip the shelf so tightly, make him breathe roughly, make him shake a little.

I look up and finally meet his eyes.

He's looking a little lost—a lot wild—and when our gaze holds, his face tenses so beautifully. His head tilts back a little, falling against the bookshelf, and he lets out this almost-groan that's whispered and quiet. I watch as his Adam's apple moves with each hard swallow he takes.

I make him feel this way, and I'm flying. Blood rushes in my ears and my heartbeat is everywhere.

I fall to my knees with perfect grace, like I've done this before.

Edward doesn't notice because he's still white-knuckling the shelf, still looking up at the ceiling, halfway containing groans in his chest.

I never thought I'd ever want to do this.

I always thought it was beneath a girl to do it.

I always thought I was better than getting on my knees for a guy.

But now I'm no reservations and wanting to make him crazy.

So I lean forward and press an experimental kiss to the tip.

"Bella…" Edward lets out a half agonized groan and lifts his head off the bookshelf, his desire-dazed eyes dropping down to watch as I kiss him again. "Wait—"

I don't want to hear this, though, so I part my lips and take just a little of him inside my mouth.

"Oh _fuck_," he rushes out all in one breath. His hips kind of jerk forward before he's shaking his head. "Wait, Bella, I don't—shit…"

His string of nonsensical curses and phrases are amusing enough that I pull away from him just briefly enough to give a little smile. And then I press more soft, light kisses against the tip before opening my mouth and taking him in again.

"Fuck," Edward groans, and I feel it when he gives in. His hands fall into my hair, pulling it back carefully. His hips push forward again, gently this time, but it still makes him go farther back into my mouth than before.

But I tell myself I _do not_ gag, so I don't.

And soon it becomes easier to do this, not quite so scary-new and different. Edward is a steady stream of half-phrases and dirty curses above me.

Though I was never really interested in this before, Rose would tell me all about her conquests. She told me that if I ever changed my mind and wanted to completely own a man for at least a few minutes, I'd do it.

She told me once to suck, so that's what I do.

It has the desired effect.

"Holy fuck… yes. Just… just like that," he says, and he's kind of pulling my hair now even though I don't think he realizes it. It stings so good, making my eyes water. "Just like that, baby. So… so fucking good."

I do it again, my heart hammering as I listen to his breaths get impossibly quicker; as I listen to his curses get louder and more colorful every time I repeat my actions.

And just as I think maybe I'll get him to where he needs to go, the hands he has in my hair pull back roughly.

"Stop."

I almost fall backwards with his force, but I am careful balance and good grace. I stare up at him with questioning eyes, but he doesn't look upset. He just looks lustful and dark, his eyes burning.

"Get up," he says.

I do it quickly, before remembering I don't jump when he says jump. But before I can regret my eagerness, his hands are on my hips and he's backing me up.

I'm against his desk before I realize it.

His hand slips between my legs brazen and unashamed. He pulls my panties aside and presses two fingers inside me.

My gasp of surprise turns into a quiet moan as my hands grab at his upper arms, my fingers curling tightly around hard muscle.

Edward's looking down at me with dark-furious eyes, like he's angry at us both for needing this so much. But a second later his face shifts and a crooked smirk briefly lifts his lips.

Then his hand is gone, and he's jerking my panties down, letting them drop to my ankles.

It's all happening so fast and I'm nothing but heartbeat, desire, and muddled thought.

I step out of one side of my white-lace panties. Edward can't wait until I can shake my ankle free of the other side. He's already reaching beneath my skirt, grabbing my hips, lifting me sharply onto the edge of the desk.

My heart decides to beat harder than it ever has before.

He's stepping between my legs, pushing my knees apart, hiking my skirt way, way up. He's looking down between us for a moment, and I think I hold my breath.

But then he thrusts forward, rough and sudden, and he's already halfway inside—no teasing or careful preparing. And I don't even have time to cry out before he thrusts again, so hard that he's all the way.

The desk shudders with the force of it.

A cup of his pens and pencils falls off. So does his lamp.

"Oh, God," I moan, my head falling forward to rest against his chest. My fingers twist the fabric of his dress shirt desperately as my body tries to adjust to the sudden intrusion.

But one of his hands is already in my hair, and he's yanking my head back painfully, his lips at my ear. "Does it feel good?" he whispers, deceptively quiet and gentle as he pulls back—only to thrust into me again roughly.

The desk shakes again, louder this time, all the drawers rattling.

I nod as best I can.

He slams into me again and again and again, and I whimper each time, feeling nothing but him and full and hard and sweaty and good.

He starts to whisper dirty things into my ear, into my skin.

He tells me to come for him and a couple of minutes later, I do.

And when the shaking has almost stopped, I wrap my legs so tightly around him. I kiss his neck. I bite his ear. And he's reaching beneath my skirt again, his hands grabbing my ass, lifting me until I'm not even on the desk anymore. He pushes deeper, deeper, deeper, and then stills, moaning curses into my neck. I feel him tremble violently, and I smile into his skin.

Then I'm on the desk again, and he half falls on top of me, barely catching himself. I squeeze tired and achy legs around him once more. I press a soft kiss to his jaw. He tries to catch his breath.

There's no regret this time, even though I know there should be. There are no tears welling, no pain blooming.

Only warmth and a dreamy high.

Because he's not my mother's now.

* * *

_Edward_

She sits down in the cab a little gingerly.

I try not to smile as I shut the door and lean down into the window. Smiling should be the last thing on my mind.

Bella stares at me calmly with her cheeks still freshly-fucked-red and her hair messy. She doesn't bite her lip or ask if she'll see me again. She isn't clichéd lines and movements, even if she does live her life like an old movie.

I say, "I don't know what to do."

She says, "I know."

"Ideas?" I ask, studying her face.

Bella purses her lips. She glances ahead, giving me a view of her glamorous profile. "I don't know what to do either, Edward."

I nod and rub at my jaw. I look away into the crowded New York City streets that hum with lunch foot traffic. I suddenly want to become one of these strangers who know where they're going, who seem to have their life together.

Because my life is coming apart at the seams.

I'm watching myself fuck up; it's like a train wreck and I can't think to stop it.

Maybe I don't want to.

"You can't tell anyone," I whisper, paranoid of even the cab driver who's impatiently tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

A little anger flashes in Bella's big, brown eyes. "You know I wouldn't."

"I know," I say, even though I'm not sure I do. I'm not sure of anything. "I'm just… I'm nervous."

"Don't be," she replies, as if it's law just because she says so.

But even still, it eases the knot of worry in my stomach—just a little.

I give her a small smile, but I don't say goodbye. I just push off from her window and lean into the passenger window instead. I hand the driver two hundreds. "Take her to her house. Keep the change."

The man's eyes widen a little and he nods.

And then I watch as the cab pulls away into the thriving, midday traffic of the city. I watch until it's out of sight. And then I go back to the office.

* * *

**Someone asked me a long time ago about the video cameras around the Swan residence, and I forgot to answer until just now. I'm sorry! But Renee only threatens with those cameras. She wouldn't actually take the time to look at them because she's either so busy or she couldn't fathom Bella would disobey/betray her. Bella also knows the cameras' blind spots. ;)**

**Thank y'all so, so much! oxoxoxo**


	23. Chapter 23

**"Let's get out of this town, baby we're on fire." - Lana, of course**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE**

"What are you smiling about, _nena_?" Carmen asks with a grin as she helps me pack my things.

"My clothes," I lie. "Aren't they just beautiful?"

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "Oh, yes, very beautiful, silly girl. I'm just surprised you aren't sulking, having to go back to that place again."

I shrug as I fold a shirt carefully. "It's just one more year, and then I'll graduate. And I'm not going to Yale. I've already decided. I'll go wherever I want. When I turn eighteen, my mother won't be able to tell me where to go, anyway."

Carmen smiles warmly. "Good for you, Isabel. I don't know what happened to you, but you've really changed in these last few weeks—changed for the good. I like seeing you do well."

I put the shirt away and walk over to Carmen. I hug my arms around her as she's folding my jeans, and she laughs.

"I can't fold like this," she complains lightly.

"You don't need to fold. I can do them myself."

"It's my job—"

"I hate that you work for us, Carmen," I murmur, resting my head against her shoulder, still holding on tightly. "I hate that you have to work for anyone as demanding as my mother. I wish you could do whatever you wanted. One day, I'll make sure you can."

Carmen laughs in surprise. "Where's this coming from, _nena_?"

"I just love you, is all." I lean back and place a quick kiss to her smooth, brown cheek. "You deserve more than this."

Her eyes find mine, and for once there's no veil, no guard, no wall, no hesitation. Solemnly—almost like a warning—she says, "You do, too, Isabel."

* * *

He calls once.

It's late, a few weeks after school starts.

Rose is asleep under a mountain of clothes and blankets, while I'm sitting in bed trying to write in my notebook and having no luck.

Then my phone rings.

I kind of know it's him before I see the number, so I let it ring a few times to make him wait a little. Because I won't seem desperate, not even when I'm dying to hear his voice, not even when I'm curious to hear what he has to say.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Hey," he says quietly, maybe a little stiffly.

"Who is this?" I ask with a sly smile. I slip beneath my covers and pull the comforter over my head, dousing my world in shadowy light.

Edward lets out an exhaled chuckle. "Nice to hear from you, too, Bella."

I curl up into a little ball, cradling the phone so carefully to my ear. My voice is a breathless whisper when I say, "I didn't know if you'd call."

"I shouldn't have."

"But you did."

"Yeah, I did." Edward sighs. I hear a book shut and imagine him in his apartment, wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt, hunkered over all his paperwork. I feel sure his apartment is just as cluttered as every other space in his life. "What've you been doing lately?"

I purse my lips. "Oh, you know. Just the usual: drugs, sex, and rock and roll. Rose has me going to all the wild parties."

I can almost _hear_ Edward roll his eyes. "Don't say shit like that."

"Does it make you jealous?"

"Yeah."

I smile so big my cheeks hurt a little. "I'm just playing. Of course I'd never do drugs, Edward."

"That's comforting. Thanks."

I roll onto my back, just listening to him breathe on the line. "What's your favorite color?" I ask.

"My favorite color?" he repeats with a small, incredulous laugh.

"Yes."

There's a slight pause. "I don't know. Blue, I guess."

"Hmm." I open my eyes, looking at the light seeping in-between the stitches of my blanket. "What shade of blue? There are so many. Be specific."

"Dark blue," he says, like maybe he's thought about it. Then he adds, "Like that dress you wore to dinner that night with my parents. That color."

"That was sapphire, dear—not dark blue. Get it right."

"It looked dark blue to me."

"That's only because you're a boy and don't know anything worth knowing."

"Oh, I see. So knowing the law well enough to put murderers and thieves behind bars isn't worth knowing?"

"Not if you don't know all the intricate shades of blue."

Edward laughs. I know he's shaking his head. "Arguing with you is like running around in a circle."

"The perfect person for a lawyer, don't you think?" I only mean it playfully, but he answers with perfect seriousness.

"Yeah, I guess so."

I go quiet because all my witty responses have left me and I'm blushing a bit.

Then he's changing the subject and asking, "What's _your_ favorite color?"

And I don't even have to think. I just say, "Emerald green. Like your eyes."

* * *

"Who were you talking to last night?" Rose asks, wiggling her eyebrows at me the next morning as we put on our eye makeup.

"Oh, dearest, you really shouldn't eavesdrop," I say as I wing out my eyeliner with a practiced hand. "It's not ladylike."

"There's hardly any part of me that's ladylike—much to my mother's dismay. And I have it on good authority that you eavesdrop, too," she accuses as she applies mascara to her forever-long lashes.

I give her a small, devious smile. "Perhaps."

"So who was he?" she demands. "Is he hot?"

"Of course," I scoff.

"Then who? Who, who, who?"

"You wouldn't know him," I fib, bringing my handheld mirror closer as I gently wipe away stray eye shadow dust. "He doesn't go to school around here."

Rose sighs dramatically. "Can you at least tell me his name?"

"No," I say.

She laughs, shaking her head. She tosses a balled up makeup wipe at me. "Fine, Miss Mystery. But would you at least tell me if y'all have fucked yet?"

"That's vulgar," I murmur, finding my red lipstick.

"But fun. Have you?"

I peep over my mirror at her. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Fuck and tell, in this case."

I roll my eyes and resume applying my makeup. "You're repulsive. Does your mother know you talk like this?"

"I do it just to infuriate her." Rose hops up and walks to my side, flopping down on the bed next to me. She almost makes me get out of line with my lipstick. "Does he live far away?"

"Unfortunately too far to visit during the school year."

"You should initiate phone sex with him."

"Rose, don't you have a class to be going to now?" I ask, looking over at her with my brows arched.

She smirks and jumps to her feet. "Fine. I'm just trying to help." She backs up towards our door. "But you really should take my advice."

I just roll my eyes and grin. "If I'd listened to your advice, I would have lost my virginity to a boy named Rat."

* * *

"What are you doing for Christmas break?" he asks, all the guilt and stiffness from his first phone calls now gone.

I bite my lip to hide my smile and glance over at Rose, who's pretending to read a magazine. "I had planned on going home. You?"

"Oh, I don't know. Hadn't really put much thought into it."

I narrow my eyes. "Why did you ask me, then?"

"Just making conversation."

"Ass," I say with a laugh, shaking my head.

There's a grin in his voice now. "Come with me somewhere."

"Anywhere."

"Wow. You're easy."

I roll my eyes, smile, and make the mistake of glancing over at Rose.

"Phone sex!" she mouths.

I make a face of disgust and shake my head.

"I'll leave the room," she adds, as if that will change my mind.

"Ew, no," I say aloud and by accident.

"What?" Edward asks.

"Oh, nothing. Rose is just being crude."

"Rose?" And just like that, his guard is thrown back up and he's wary and suspicious of me, of this phone call, of everything.

"She's been obsessing over you—my mystery caller," I say, subtly reassuring.

I can almost hear his sigh of relief. "So she doesn't know?"

"Don't be ridiculous," I say, both to him and to Rose as she continues to plead her case silently.

She sticks her tongue out at me.

I stick mine out back.

"Look, would you like to go somewhere with me this break or not?" Edward asks.

"I think I already gave you my answer."

"I want to hear it again."

I feel my lips curl up into a wry smile. "Yes, I want to go with you. Any time, any place."

"Good. Pack a bag, then."

"What should I pack? Where will you take me?"

"It's a surprise."

"I have to know what clothes to bring, silly. Warm weather or cold weather things?"

"Warm."

"Good. Oh, and when you say I should pack a bag—singular—you know that's impossible, right? I just don't want there to be any surprises when I have five bags instead."

"You're so fucking—" he begins in exasperation.

"See you then," I interrupt with a grin and hang up on him. Then I toss my phone and glance over at Rose, smiling sweetly. "Rosie, sweetheart, my best friend, my true companion, the star of my life."

Rose turns her head to look at me flatly. "Let me guess. You need me to cover for you like last year."

"Yes," I say, except last year was a thousand times different than this year. But I don't say that. I just add, "If my mother decides to bother checking my story—"

"You're with my family and me in Cancún."

"You're a precious darling."

"You owe me."

"Of course."

* * *

"Have fun this break," Rose tells me as she's leaving our room, already wearing sunglasses and a bathing suit beneath her dress. "Get laid." She winks.

I sigh. "Have a good time, Rose."

"I plan to, Queen B." She kisses my cheek, and then she's gone.

I pack the rest of my things in my bags. And then I wait. I listen and watch as the whole school filters out, leaving for exotic locales and family time. I'm impatient even though a lady isn't supposed to be.

But I know why he's waiting.

He'll wait until every soul is gone except the janitors.

Then he'll be here.

And that's exactly what happens.

After the halls are quiet and the parking lots are empty, I get a phone call. I hit answer and hold it to my ear.

"Come downstairs," he says.

I hang up and smile and grab my luggage. I drift down the hallways and the marble steps, going so very slow, because I won't rush to him. I'll make him wait a little, too. It's only fair, after all.

And then I'm outside, shivering in the Pennsylvania cold, and I see him at his car.

He's plain clothes. He's hair that's still beautifully too long. He's winter-pinked cheeks and casual cool and a small smile and movie-man perfect.

I smile back at him and sashay over slowly. "Here are my bags," I say, offering them.

Edward arches his brows. "Jesus. How many did you bring?"

"Eight, but I was smart and put a few of the smaller ones in the bigger ones. Aren't you delighted by my intelligence?"

"Yes, I'm staggered by how creative you can be when packing clothes," he says with a sarcastic smirk, jerking my luggage away. "I'm sure that will be a very helpful skill throughout the rest of your life."

"Space saving is a wonderful skill to have," I sniff, pulling delicately at my gloves. "You should be so lucky as to have it yourself."

Edward rolls his eyes as he walks around to the trunk of his car to put my luggage away.

"Where are we going?" I inquire.

He walks back around to the passenger door and opens it for me, because he's a gentleman sometimes. He leans into me, so close that it's heart-squeezing, and his breath is blessedly warm against my frozen lips. "Can't tell you."

I pretend to be outdone.

And then he kisses me, too quick and too brief. "Just get in."

I make a face and ignore the delirious pound of my heart. Then I climb into the car.

* * *

**Y'all are so kind. I really, truly appreciate all the support. It means so much. I wish I could really express HOW much.**

**On another note, I'll be posting some more links on my profile for next chapter, so keep an eye out (;**

**Thank y'all so, so much.**

**oxoxoxo**


	24. Chapter 24

**"Heaven is a place on Earth with you." -Lana Del Rey**

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR**

I run down the beach, kicking up sun-warmed sand with my toes and then splashing into the ocean. I'm dirtying my white sundress, but I don't care. Being happy means not having to worry, and I can't find one thing to worry about this evening.

I'm carefree contentment in an ocean-soaked sundress.

"Come here!" Edward calls from down the beach. He's smiling a little, his hands in his pockets, his legs getting splashed by the sea.

I shake my head at him, walking backwards and smiling so big my cheeks hurt. My hair is getting torn apart by the wind, flying in my face, getting curled by the humidity. But I don't care about that, either.

I'm messy hair and sunny satisfaction.

"_Come here_," Edward repeats, mouthing the words to me.

"Come and get me," I mouth back.

He smirks, his eyes lighting up with the challenge. Then he's chasing after me, and I'm running away, kicking up sand in my wake.

The sky is hot gold and pink, and the ocean looks like liquid sun. The whole world is on fire with the sunset, and I'm burning up.

Edward catches me quickly despite my best efforts.

I scream when his arms go around me from behind; when he lifts me up and drags me into the water, soaking me.

"My dress!" I protest before he dunks me in the salty-cool ocean. I pop back up, pushing hair out of my face and hiccupping on laughter. A strong wave pushes me forward, almost toppling me, but Edward catches me as I giggle breathlessly.

"Have you no concern for my attire at all?" I demand, smacking him.

He's half soaked himself, just from my struggle, but he's grinning. "No, I could care less, to be completely honest."

I roll my eyes and splash him—directly in the face.

He groans and wipes the water away.

"It's what you get," I say with mock solemnity as I push past him and barely manage to walk back to the shore without getting knocked over by a wave. Then I wring the hem of my dress out.

Edward follows me out of the ocean and squeezes water from his T-shirt. He purposely hits my legs.

I stick my tongue out at him and dance away.

But he catches me before I get too far. "Why do you keep running away?" he asks against my ear, a smirk on his lips.

"Because I know you'll chase me," I reply.

Edward bites playfully at my earlobe, making me gasp and giggle. "I want to give you something."

"What?" I inquire, turning in his hold.

He kisses my forehead before taking a step back and digging into his pocket. "It might have gotten a little wet," he murmurs, pulling out a little chiffon bag. I watch as he carefully opens the drawstrings and dumps something golden into his palm. Then he holds it out to me, and I move closer to inspect it.

It's a necklace with a thin, delicate chain and the smallest, most precious little heart charm. I fell in love with it when I saw it a few hours earlier in a store we stopped in.

I look up at him, pushing my wet, wind-blown hair from my face. "When did you get this?"

"While you weren't looking," Edward replies, shrugging. Then he smiles a little. "You aren't the only one who can be sneaky."

I'm all wobbly now, and I've been robbed of words. I can think of nothing adequate to say.

But Edward isn't expecting anything from me. He just says, "Turn around and lift up your hair."

So I do.

He puts the necklace around me and clasps it. The heart falls just above the tiny dream catcher necklace my father gave me. They're the same color, so they look like they were made to be worn together.

"There," Edward says and kisses the back of my neck.

I smile, goose bumps running down my arms. I turn to face him again as I reach up and touch the necklace lightly. "Thank you," I say. "I really love it."

"I'm glad," he murmurs. He's all soft smiles and almost-shy eyes.

"I still have the rose you bought me at the play," I tell him quietly. "I have it on my nightstand in my dorm so I can see it before I go to sleep." My heart starts pounding in my chest and the beat of it radiates outward until I can feel my pulse even in my fingers and toes. It feels as though I've admitted to something precious, and I guess I have.

I've admitted something that makes me vulnerable, and I realize that it's supposed to be this way. Being honest with him is exciting and scary, and there's beauty in that. This is supposed to be new and nerve-wracking and breathless.

Edward smiles at me. His hands come up and hold my face carefully, and then he presses his lips to mine, once and very softly. "Let's go back to the house."

* * *

"You wanna go somewhere tonight?" Edward asks into the crown of my hair.

I hug myself closer to him, resting against his chest. His heartbeat still hasn't slowed down. Neither has mine. "No. I just want to stay here."

"Okay," he murmurs, his fingers trailing down my spine, raising goose bumps.

I open my eyes and look out the wall of windows. The sun has long since set, but the moon is full tonight. It shines against the rippling ocean and lights the bedroom with a silvery glow.

"I can't believe Carlisle and Esme aren't here for vacation," I say. "This house is beautiful. I'd be here all-year-round."

"They opted for Venice this year instead of Miami."

"Ah," I say, drawing circles on his skin. We grow quiet, and my thoughts wander sleepily. "Thank you."

"For what?" he asks, his own voice tired and slow.

I hesitate, gathering my courage. "For doing this. For coming to get me and taking me somewhere. It… it means a—it's just a nice thing for you do to."

Edward's silent for only a moment. And then I feel his fingers gently brush at my hair, tucking some strands carefully behind my ear. "You're welcome, Bella. I wanted to."

I feel my eyes water, and I'm embarrassed.

I am _not_ a mushy girl.

But here I am, unshed tears waiting to spill over onto my cheeks and betray me.

"Hey," Edward says, sitting up a little. He carefully swipes away my tears as quickly as they come. "It's all right."

"Oh, I know. I know. I'm being silly, is all. It's just that… never mind. It isn't anything important."

Edward's fingers trace lightly down my neck. I can feel his gaze, his sad eyes. "You didn't go to the Bahamas with Rose last year, did you?" he asks quietly.

A few more tears appear and I sigh as I dab them away. "No."

"Why'd you lie?"

"Because I knew Renee wanted to be with you. I knew she wanted to go to Spain with you for vacation. And I knew I would have just ruined her plans." I blink rapidly, clearing any remaining tears as I try to salvage my dignity. "I just thought it was best to tell her I was going with Rose to keep her from feeling guilty."

"Jesus Christ, Bella." Edward exhales angrily, sitting up fully and shaking his head in astonishment. "Where the hell did that come from? You should have told her. I would have taken you to Spain, too."

"I know you would have." I sit up, hugging the sheets to my chest. "I knew that, so I didn't say anything. I knew Renee wanted it to just be you and her."

"You spent Christmas alone in that school just to spare Renee's plans?" Edward's disbelieving and irritated and incredulous.

"Yes," I say as calmly as I can.

"I don't fucking understand your relationship with her, Bella. I really don't. You can't give everything to her."

"It isn't like that," I say, shaking my head now. "I just love her. That's all. You sacrifice everything willingly for the people you love."

"Yeah, well, the people who love you back don't ask for everything, Bella. That's the difference." Edward leans forward, finding my eyes with his again. "I'm not saying your mom doesn't love you. I'm just saying… she's the type of person who will suck the life out of you without even realizing or caring. She's a selfish person. You know that. You've said it before. I just don't want you doing shit like that for her."

I just smile at him. His hair is long enough that it's fallen in his eyes, hanging in his eyelashes, so I reach out and gently push the strands away. And such a touch feels like a luxury. It feels like so much.

"Thank you," I murmur, because that's all there is to say.

Edward looks a little sad, like he knows his efforts are in vain. And he's right, just for the wrong reasons.

But then he smiles and says, "You're welcome." He kisses me.

* * *

The days blur by until I don't know how much time has passed.

We live in a beautiful bubble, and Edward's nothing but relaxed and calm now that we're far away from anyone we know. He's different.

Everything's different.

He'll lean over to kiss my cheek or he'll put his hand on the small of my back—all in public.

He isn't afraid here, and I'm already feeling the dangerous pull of his carefree affection.

I'm already getting caught up in it.

I like walking beside him. I like people seeing that we're together. I like that here, with strangers, we aren't an odd couple in the least. He only looks a little older than me in his plain clothes, and we get no strange looks or disapproving glares.

It's tempting to know this is what life could be like all the time.

And it's crushing to know we can't have it.

But I don't think about what can't be. I just enjoy the now. I enjoy walking on the beach with him and playing in the ocean with him and going out to dinner with him. I enjoy knowing that his favorite band is Led Zeppelin and that his least favorite food is green beans. I enjoy knowing all the different ways he can kiss me, the way he looks when he comes, the way he breathes out in relief when he first pushes inside me. I enjoy knowing that he can go slow or fast, gentle or rough, and it's all wonderful, any way he does it. I enjoy how he says dirty things to me sometimes and sweet things other times.

I just enjoy him. Everything about him.

* * *

"I still don't believe you," I insist.

Edward makes a face at me.

I laugh as I sit on the granite countertops, swinging my legs. My hair is shower-damp and my sun-kissed face is clean, no trace of makeup. It's startling how quickly Edward persuaded me not to worry about makeup. He said we were at the beach, that nobody wore makeup when they were swimming and sunbathing. He said he liked me better without it.

So I haven't worn any in days.

I still startle myself when I look in the mirror. I don't look like myself at all. I'm not sure if it's because of the clean face or something else entirely. But something _is_ different.

"I'm going to prove it to you," Edward says, turning on the stove burner.

"I'm watching," I reply, but really, I'm looking out at the white, pretty living room and the ocean beyond. This house is beautiful, all open, all white, all glass and no clutter. I've fallen in love with it.

"You better not put basil in it. I hate basil," I warn.

"I'll put what I want," he mutters.

I kick at his butt as he walks by. "If you want to impress me with your cooking skills, you won't be doing it with basil."

"_Fine_," he explodes, rolling his eyes. "God. You're so fucking bossy."

I laugh again.

He grabs my feet on an upswing, and steps between my legs. He leans in and kisses my nose. "I never knew you had freckles," he comments.

"I cover them with my makeup," I reply, shrugging. "Freckles aren't glamorous, obviously."

"You're glamorous as a whole, Bella. Freckles and all. You shouldn't be so worried about things like that." Edward rests his forehead against mine. His minty breath washes over my lips, making me dizzy.

"You're always trying to help me, Edward," I murmur, slipping my hands beneath his T-shirt, running my fingers up and down his sides slowly. "Trying to be a hero."

"Just trying to get you to see the truth." He kisses me once and then sighs, because he knows he's fighting a losing battle.

* * *

"Fine," I say, tossing my hair. "You can cook."

Edward smirks. "Told you."

"You don't have to be arrogant about it. I admitted it."

"I have to bask in the glory of you being wrong," Edward replies but then he grins. It lights up his face, his eyes, his whole being. It's a special smile, a true one. He's been giving them more and more, ever since we arrived.

It makes me breathless and disoriented. So I try to change topics. "Favorite movie. Go."

Edward debates for a moment, used to our new game. "_Star Wars—_the first one."

"Oh my God, _no_!" I cry.

"It's a great movie," he defends.

"I can never look at you the same way, Edward. You've lost every ounce of respect I had for you."

"What's wrong with _Star Wars_?" he demands, arching his eyebrows.

I stir the spaghetti he made us before taking another bite. "My God, where do I even start?"

"I saw it on TV when I was little, and I loved it. My mom bought me the pajamas and everything."

I cover my mouth as I laugh. "Did you also build models and have acne?"

"You are a shallow person," he accuses, pointing his fork at me. "And no, my skin was always flawlessly clear, thank you."

"But you did build models," I prod.

"I went through a phase."

"I think you're still in that phase."

"You like _Gone with the Wind_!" He's completely incredulous, but he's smiling, too. "That's the most boring, overrated, drawn-out, God-awful movie I've ever seen. I don't think I've ever lasted through the whole thing. I always fall asleep."

"If you hate it so much, why'd you watch it with me that night?" I challenge him.

"I told you then it was too long. But I think your response was, 'Too bad.'" He rolls his eyes. "Touching."

I laugh once, shaking my head. "Oh, that's right. Okay, new topic. Name your favorite childhood memory."

"The _Star Wars_ pajamas. Hands down."

I pinch a piece of bread off and toss it at him. "I'm serious."

Edward inhales deeply, thinking it over. "I don't know. Probably the time my mom—my real mom—took me to the park. I think I was six. She took me on the swing set, and we both swung for hours. I guess she was trying to avoid my dad, looking back on it. But at the time, I had no idea. It was great." He nods once, fiddling with his fork. "Your turn."

I smile slightly. I don't even have to think. "There was an ice cream truck in our neighborhood when I was little. But it never passed our house. I could hear the music, but it was never close enough to go get ice cream. So one day, my dad saw me pouting about it, and he said, 'Get in the cruiser.' We hopped in his police car, and he chased that truck for a whole mile. He finally turned his lights on and made the guy pull over—all just to get me an ice cream."

Edward smiles, too. "He sounds like a cool dad."

"He was. Is." I blow out a sigh and look down at my food. But I'm not hungry anymore. "He remarried. He's adopting his new wife's children."

Edward leans forward. I expect him to give mindless words of comfort, maybe. But he doesn't. He just reaches out until his hand finds mine on the table. He squeezes, hard. It's all he needs to do.

* * *

**I'm thinking one more Bella chapter after this one! (: Then it's all Edward! Thank y'all for reading!**


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